Cinders in The Crater
by Mello's Favorite Reject
Summary: Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.
1. Prologue

**Title: **Cinders in The Crater

**Summary: **Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own DN. The plot and future OCs are mine. Anything referenced is either owned by someone more respectable than I, or is purely a coincidence. That is all, thankyou.

**Author's Note:** Alright. This is a weird idea. Don't know how well it'll turn out, but let's cross our fingers!

**Special thanks to: **CatatonicVanity… for being very supportive. Not to mention a damn good Beta! You rock, girl!

…

* * *

**Prologue:**

The _Initiation_ was nothing special. Just a simple ceremony in which a candidate was taken to a rather secretive headquarters, chained to a table and mutilated. And this is before one can even be deemed worthy of becoming an _Applicant_. (Of course, it was necessary to apply and be approved after the _Mutilation_; anyone who was rejected was usually left alone to bleed to death. If death did not come in a timely fashion, the rejected specimen was used as a _Test Subject_.) Once approved, the lucky individual would endure a series of tests to confirm their physical and mental health. Once their condition is calculated, they are sentenced to live and train for one year on a naval convoy. After all this, they are dispersed to various _Checkpoints_, where they are to locate their assigned comrades and prepare for the _GreatWar_ that is said to be coming.

Yeah, this was common knowledge under Kira's rule. Every year, he drafted more and more teens. And though there had yet to be any concrete evidence of this War, the drafted teens never came home. Many assumptions were made, but the subject wasn't spoken aloud, for Kira's eyes and ears were everywhere, watching and waiting to punish those who opposed him.

…

But this was all wrong. Everyone between the ages of 15 and 18 were supposed to be drafted. So… why was the 13 year old Mail Jeevas being dragged out of the newly constructed Junior High School?

"Leave me the fuck alone!" the redhead howled, kicking and screaming and doing his damnedest to be released from the iron grip this mad woman had on his arm.

The woman halted briefly and offered a wry smile. Her eyes were narrowed, her face was shaped like a piece of pie that had been sat on, and her lips were painted a few shades redder than necessary. "Be calm, child. Kira is God now, remember? And if he drafts you, you cannot deny him… Unless you want to die. You don't want that now, do you? He'll kill your family too. Smite them all!" With that, she let off a horrendous cackle and continued to forcefully drag the 13 year old redhead out of the school, through the parking lot and to a black limousine.

Two burly men in suits and sunglasses emerged and pulled open the door in a polite manner. "Welcome back, Miss Takada. I trust the boy is ready for the Initiation?" The other man stayed silent, save for a grunt of disdain.

Takada, the dark haired woman with the smashed-pie face, only smiled and roughly shoved her redheaded charge into the limo. She followed, slipping in and crossing one leg over the other. "So, you're the Jeevas boy, right? Young Mail?" The quiet but intense glare she received from the teen was answer enough. "Kira will make good use of you. Just sit back and do what you're told."

Mail kept his anger fixed on the woman, a sense of defiance burning behind his eyes. No, he did not want to be drafted and trained by Kira to become a soldier for an imaginary War. And, yes, he did have a life of his own, thank you very much. In fact, today was the big day, in which he was planning to ask out a peer he was smitten with. And now, that would be deemed impossible. (Sadly, when the cafeteria opened for Lunch, a sassy little lassie named Linda would be waiting for her redheaded crush to show up, but… he never would. Her heart would forever be broken and distrustful, but this has nothing to do with our story.)

…

"This is Wammy's House. A top secret establishment specifically for debuting young boys like you," Takada explained as she strode into the luxurious manor and through a maze of halls and stairs, leading the previously mentioned set of guards who were wrestling a feisty teen, forcing him to follow the mistress.

"I don't wanna be here!" Mail shouted. "Fuck Kira! I just wanna go back to school, and then home! I'm only 13! Isn't there a law that says I have to be 15 to be drafted, dammit?" The redhead's voice was loud, shrill, and cracking with ill-timed puberty, and though his cries echoed loud throughout the vicinity, no one gave any indication that they'd heard him. Not Takada. Not the guards in tight pressed suits. And not the people they passed by.

…

"Ah, here we are," Takada said, smiling brightly as she entered a large circular room that vaguely resembled a small coliseum, complete with rows upon rows of seats filled with a variety of spectators. In the center of the room sat a small metal table. The woman batted her false lashes at her guards. "Help the boy get comfortable. Kira will be here soon, I'm sure."

By now, Mail's attempts at struggling had worn him down, and he found himself too tired to fight back as he was placed on the table and shackled down. The redhead weakly rattled the chains but found himself unable to do much else. He was suddenly fatigued. His eyes slipped closed, but not before he heard a voice.

"Stop the Initiation! MisaMisa wants a new pet! My last thirty-one died! BB keeps eating them, and Kira said I could get a new one!"

…

Mail awoke, relieved to find that he was no longer strapped to the table, nor did he feel any pain. He waited for some sign that his body was beyond repair, beaten, sliced, or broken but found nothing, which was strange because he was positive that he was about to go through Mutilation. But at the moment, he felt perfectly fine, albeit dizzy. He looked around, surprised to find himself in a frilly pink room covered in Pro-Kira icons and decorations.

"Where the hell am I?" the redhead inquired, his eyes spanning his surroundings, coming to a cessation when he noticed that he was not the only occupant in the room.

The other one was hunched over in a corner, hair choppy hair all askew and his clothes marred in red.

"E-Excuse me?" Mail asked cautiously, unsure what to think of this strange man who curled himself up in the corner and fingered something around his neck. Upon further inspection the thing around his neck was a collar, the redhead realized. "Hey, sir, can you tell me where I am?" He managed to ask his question, but the moment the words left his mouth, he regretted it, for his words seemed to stir a strange interest in the man.

Said man jerked up from his crouching position and hobbled over, keeping his back hunched and revealing a slight limp. The dark haired oddity lessened the distance between himself and the redhead before grinning like crazy mad.

"You can't stay here," the man said, a giggle slipping through his lips, a sound that was ill-befitting of his lanky stature. "Misa only has room for one pet. You'll just have to leave. Go play War for Kira." That grin, if possible, scaled in size, nearly splitting his pale face in two.

"I don't want anything to do with Kira or his imaginary War!" he shouted, surprised by the strength in his own voice.

The man cocked his head to the side, as if curious, though the gesture looked menacing for whatever reason. "Oh, I assure you, this War is far from imaginary. It is quite real, and it is going to begin very soon." His tone grew from excited and childish to a drawn out droll of apathy. His eyes were bright red, shimmering like he had a secret but no intention on telling. As Mail studied the man, he found himself categorizing him as mischievous (and perhaps slightly manic.) "Then again, perhaps this War has already begun… Yes, perhaps it has." As he said this, his voice was barely above a whisper, and a strange gleam fell over his eyes, suggesting an untold wisdom.

The redhead opened his mouth to make a query, but just then, the door flung open and in bounced a blonde. In her hand, she held a collar, not unlike the one the dark haired man was wearing. "Oooh, MisaMisa brought something for her new pet!" she squealed in delight and approached the redhead.

Upon the arrival of the quirky blonde, the dark haired man sank down, onto all fours like an animal. His wisdom long forgotten and his face twisting into that of an ornery child's.

"Awe, did BB miss MisaMisa?" The blonde gushed and patted the dark haired man on the head. She puckered her lips and narrowed her eyes. "BB, what have I told you about staining up your nice new clothes? Now I'll just have to go buy you new ones!" Her voice sounded exasperated, but she was smiling brightly. Finally, her attention found the 13 year old once more. "Oh, and you're Mail, aren't you? You're simply adorable!" She approached with the collar in hand.

The redhead stumbled back until he bumped into the wall. "Listen, lady, I'm not supposed to be here. I should be home. Or at school. Or something. I still have two years left before this shit is supposed to happen to me."

At this, the blonde frowned. "Awe, MisaMisa is sorry if you're sad, but… this is your new home." She gestured to the room they were in. "Yep, the entirety of your world has become this room. You will be fed twice a day. I'll pick up some new clothes shortly. Oh, and if you need to go potty, there's a litter pan in the closet." As she concluded her little discourse, she slipped the collar around Mail's neck and fastened it. Then she looked at the dark haired man once more. "Oh, and BB, try not to eat this one."

BB lowered his head, as if ashamed to be chided. Then, when his blonde owner reached out to pet him, he slipped his tongue out and lapped at her fingers in a primitive show of affection.

Misa looked at the slobbers on her hand with disgust, but the displeasure abandoned her expression quickly; she announced that she'd be back in a couple hours before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her, presumably locking it.

"I-I have to get out of here. I'm not some bitch's pet," Mail growled after a stunned silence, tugging at the collar and trying to maneuver it off. When he struggled with it for a few minutes and his efforts were blatantly fruitless, he glared at the dark haired man. "You're BB, right? And you're not gonna eat me, obviously. But what was that all about? You're talkin' like there really is a War going on. And you drop down and act all puppy-like for that chick? What's that all about? Huh? And then there's the matter of…-"

At this time, BB interrupted, his eyes narrowed into slits and his lips pulling back to bare his teeth; he looked rather deranged. "And then there's the matter of me telling you that you can't stay here. Do you know why? Because Misa already has a pet. And I'll be damned if I let some scrawny redhead ruin the good things I've got."

"But she treats you like an animal!" Mail shouted, gesturing to the collars they each wore.

And BB fell silent, his eyes widening as if he was computing something, weighing amounts of his life on a metaphysical scale. And when he spoke, his voice was full of quelled malice. "I was drafted, like you. Back when I was 16. Somehow, Kira had overlooked me when I was 15, and so I was initiated the following year. I went through everything, being trained not to feel. Being trained to kill at the mandate of a commanding officer. I was deadly efficient. I was praised for my success, but…" His eyes darkened. "But I had morphed into a predator; my only instinct was to kill, and so I did. One evening, when the crew and I bunkered down, I temporarily misplaced my sanity. And I slaughtered my own team, starting with Believe Bridesmaid and ending with Quarter Queen. Soon, I was incapacitated, locked in a holding cell for what seemed like days or weeks –possibly longer. One day, I simply woke up in Misa's care. Apparently, I was to be executed, but she took pity on me. And, during my stay here, she never asked me to kill; never punished me when I did something wrong; never made me fight for my food. She's been wonderful."

Mail half-listened to the tale, only catching a few words here and there. "Riiight." He drawled skeptically. "Mind helping me get the damn collar off? Help me out of here, and you can keep that bitch all to yourself. I just wanna go home."

But BB made no move to help. He simply shook his head and opened his mouth. "If you go home, Kira will find you. And your family will be slaughtered before your eyes. He'll make it slow and painful. And it'll be all your fault. Because all you have to do is be a good little drone for our savior."

Matt fixed a glare before returning his attention to the collar once more. "Just help me out of here, alright? I have too much to lose. I can't be here. Don't you know what it's like to leave something behind?"

Something seemed to register in the odd man's eyes, but whatever it had been was gone in an instant. He simply stretched out on the floor, laying on his back and holding perfectly still. "I am a corpse."

"Come again?" Mail asked, not really caring.

BB remained motionless, but he did repeat himself before elaborating. "I am a corpse. Corpses get taken out back and left in the toolshed until it is convenient to dispose of them. I suppose if I were to kill you, you'd get out easily enough." With that, he rolled over, clamored to his feet and approached the younger male.

…

When the blonde returned, she was not alone. A handsome brunette was at her side, hands in the pockets of his expensive trousers and a slightly vexed smile stretching between his delicate cheekbones.

"Misa, dear, why must I see this new pet of yours? Really, they're all the same, aren't they?" He sounded terribly bored.

The blonde crooned and danced a little jig, clenching her fists and pouting her lips."Kira, no! This one's a redhead! And he's soooo young! You have to meet him!"

The brunette, ostensibly Kira, sighed and glanced about. "Well, where is he?'

Misa smiled brightly, taking the probe as an encouragement to show off her new 'pet.' "Oh, MisaMisa loves her new pet! Kira, you shall like this pet too!" She looked around and confusion settled over her. "Where can he be?" Unless her eyes had deceived her, her new pet was nowhere to be seen.

Just then, BB crawled out of the closet, sat beside Misa's feet and looked up at her. He forced an expression of guilt and gestured to the closet.

The blonde gasped. "BB, you didn't?"

Kira frowned at Misa's forlorn demeanor. "Misa, I don't see why you don't just get rid of BB. He does this all the time. You take in a stray kid, and BB kills it before it even has a chance to settle in. If you got rid of BB, you could have your own little farm full of teens."

Misa looked appalled at the very notion. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around BB. "No! He's mine! He's practically family! MisaMisa feels that a pet is a big responsibility! You don't just throw them away because they have bad habits!"

At this, the brunette God rolled his eyes. "He's a murderer, Misa."

"So are you," she snapped, surprised by her own behavior. She tightened her hold on the dark haired man and kissed his forehead, leaving a lipstick stain. "Don't worry, BB. MisaMisa will just have to work harder at helping you."

Kira quirked a brow and stared at the blonde for a long minute before shaking his head and turning on heel. "Misa, dear, I suggest you reevaluate things a bit. Remember where your loyalty lies. You cannot forget who your God is." With that, he retreated from the room, his neatly polished shoes clicking with each step as he did so.

…

Now, contrary to popular belief, Misa wasn't a heartless whore. In fact, she was quite the opposite. She was absurdly loyal and she loved all people and things around her. It was this fact that made her unable to even look at the body of the new pet that was surely a bloody mess with teeth and claw marks all over a torn throat. Thus, she'd called for Kira's right-hand man to remove the body.

Kira's right-hand man had been a tall, fairly attractive man with glasses. When they spoke, Misa had called the man: Mikami.

Mikami slipped on a pair of gloves and went to grab the body, only to find that BB had already deposited the cadaver into a body bag. He patted BB on the head for praise and offered condolences to Misa for the umpteenth time before dragging the bag out back.

…

Mail didn't know how long he'd been waiting, motionlessly, inside that over-heated bag. But when he finally managed to get out, it was dark out, and he felt relief at the chance to feel the nightly breeze on his face and in his hair. Sweat made his clothing stick to him uncomfortably, but he was happy to be out and alive, unscathed.

Had he avoided the dreaded Initiation? Was he free of the fear that came prior to the ceremony of Mutilation? Could he really have escaped his fate after being drafted?

Hope settled in his chest, and he found himself smiling.

Kira thought him to be dead. Misa would probably find herself another pet. BB would be happy enough, in his own twisted way. And his folks back home…-

Dread laced his core as he thought of his parents.

Consequently, the smile left his face; frown lines tugged at his mouth and despair made his heart heavy. Because it would be dangerous to go back home. What if he was somehow caught? What if someone came looking for him? What if his family got mixed up in all this mess? And Linda. Oh, dear Linda. Pretty Linda, with her carefree nature and love for all things art-related. What would Linda think?

Surely, everyone back home missed him, right? Were they grieving? Should he go back… if only to tell them goodbye? Would it be better to just hightail it out and run, sparing them the additional agony that might befall?

As these thoughts churned in Mail's head, he began to wander around the property line, seeking the gate that would lead to his freedom.

Thankfully, the redhead found the gate, and to his delight, it was not only unlocked, but also opened. He jogged out and into the street. He looked around, instantly realizing that he hadn't a clue where he was at the moment. Nor did he have a plan on where to go.

He took in the sight of bright streetlights and the neon scape of distant buildings; he read any and all signs and billboards, hoping for the slightest indication.

In the end, he decided to just get going; he'd come up with a plan soon enough, right?

Wrong.

Before he could even resolve which direction to venture, a blur of light and color slammed into him with a startling force.

…

"What's going on now?" A woman quipped, shoving open the limo's door and glowering at the suited men who were standing at the head of the car.

"Miss Takada," a man said, "I think we just hit a kid."

…

* * *

**/Well, that's the end of the prologue. Kinda long, I think. I dunno. What's your opinion? Too much? Too little? Too confusing? Questions, comments? Whatever you have to say, say it, 'kay? I hope to have the next chappie up within a week. I've already gotten started on it! Now, be a good little reader and review! (Or BB might eat you!)/**


	2. Vicarious Imitation

**Title:** Cinders in The Crater

**Summary:** Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DN. The plot and future OCs are mine. Anything referenced is either owned by someone more respectable than I, or is purely a coincidence. That is all, thankyou.

**Author's Note:** The idea for Matt's Initiation was presented to me by CatatonicVanity. If you like it, thank her. It was a genius idea, and I hope I expressed it well enough. Also, I'm not gonna lie, I got stuck and she wrote a portion of the chapter for me. So, yes, thank her lots! (It now occurs to me that this A/N is nothing but a thankyou for CV. Ironically, right beneath it is another section to thank her. I could have combined to the two, but I didn't. And, now I won't. Because I made a point to type this message out and feel it pointless to backspace at the moment. XD)

**Special thanks to:** CatatonicVanity… for being very supportive. Not to mention a damn good Beta! You rock, girl!

**Warning: **Only half this chapter is Beta 'ed. I will probably go back and fix errors later.

…

* * *

**Chapter One: **Vicarious Imitation

Lids fluttered like paper shutters. Each time the lash-laden covers pulled up, bleary emeralds were revealed –though they quickly vanished beneath the thin layer of skin. An alternative to _Peek-a-Boo_.

"Welcome back, soldier," said a feminine voice, looking over the boy that had been bed-ridden since the accident. "You gave everyone quite a scare. You've been in a coma for nearly six months."

The words were barely registered by the lethargic boy with jade-colored eyes. Once his vision managed to adjust to the sterile white surroundings, he moved to sit up, surprised and confused at being unsuccessful in this miniscule endeavor. "Where am I?" He questioned softly, his voice hoarse and his throat dry.

The woman simply continued to smile. "Why, you're at Wammy's House, in the infirmary. We've taken care of you after your accident. You were chosen by Kira, and as soon as you gather your strength, we shall proceed with the _Initiation_."

The boy squeezed his eyes shut and tried to recall an accident that would land him in an infirmary, but nothing came to mind. He opened his eyes, waited for his vision to focus, and stared at the woman. Her dark hair, pale skin, bright red lips, and jalopy face –Oh, God, what was wrong with her face? It looked like it had seen better days, that's for sure. Swollen and puffy in all the wrong places and coming to a point at her chin; a poor pixel drawn by a four year old and brought to life by something akin to fuckin' CAPCOM. (Note: I have no grudge to bear against CAPCOM. In fact, there are many games from this industry that I delight in playing. Thank you.)

"What are you thinking?" the woman asked casually, reaching over to a tray and grabbing a scalpel. She held it in her palm and grazed the pad of her finger with the blade.

The redhead watched her with an expression of pure unadulterated apathy before giving a shrug and offering an answer. "I don't know," he said, forcing himself up with his arms and pushing aside the pain from his weak and protesting muscles. Once upright, his eyes widened in wonder as he looked around. "Lady, can I get your name?"

The woman scrunched up her face and quirked a brow in a show of confusion and distaste. She returned the scalpel to the tray before verbalizing repose. "Come again, boy?"

Again, the convalescing protagonist shrugged. "You helped me, right? I'd like to know your name so I can properly thank you. Or, is that too formal?" His words strained against his dry throat, coming out a bit raspier than he expected, but he was glad to have gotten his point across.

"You don't remember? That's strange. Hold on a sec." With that, she exited the room. It was six minutes and forty seconds before she returned with a handsome young man at her side. "Kira, this is that soldier boy I told you about. He was _Misa's pet_, wasn't he?"

Kira, a brunette man with narrow eyes and an even narrower prospect of good and evil, looked the boy over and smiled politely, though the flicker of contempt in his eyes made the contortion appear rather spiteful. "Welcome back, Bright Eyes. I hope you've recovered well enough… because today, we begin your Initiation."

The redhead frowned, confusion evident in his features. "Initiation? Like, for a club or something?"

Kira laughed sardonically. "No. You're over fifteen, and the laws clearly state that you are _my_ property if and when I need you as long as you are between the ages of 15 and 18. At your age, you are a lost and lonely individual, and I will open my arms to you. I will give you a purpose. And all I ask is that you serve me. Protect your country and loved ones. Obey me. And one day, we shall see this world at peace!" He concluded his speech with outstretched arms and a gleeful expression resembling that of a cult leader.

The adolescent nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Of course, sir, but if you don't mind me asking… Who are you? Who am I? And… what exactly is going on?"

…

The redhead had been re-introduced to the woman known as Takada, unaware that they'd met before under reasonably hostile conditions. He learned that the brunette was Kira, whom had no qualms with being referred to as God, suggesting a bit of apotheosis in the midst.

His own name was never mentioned, and he thought better of asking again.

All the teen really knew was that he'd been in an '_accident_,' of which no details were given, save for the fact that he had healed well, though it would take a bit of physical therapy to prime his physical capabilities. He also knew that he was at an infirmary in a place called Wammy's House, which was the origin to many of the _New World's_ greatest military advances. Everything from weapon development to the _Rights of the Initiation_. All of it, every bit of horror and politics began in this one building.

At Wammy's House, soldiers were hand-picked by God and Initiated (and hopefully approved) –and now it was this redhead's turn.

…

Kira had left the boy when he grew tired of vindicating the why-where's, who-what's, how-if's, and know-give's, but not before promising to visit him after the Mutilation.

The boy was left alone with the woman and her frightening face. Every time he looked at her, he tried to look past her, for if he were to look directly at her deformities, then he'd surely cringe or risk vomiting content that did not exist in his stomach. "Miss Takada," he said after some time, "do you know my name?" His eyes were wide and curious, like an infant discovering television.

The woman bit her lip, thinking of a proper way to answer. When she couldn't mentally affirm one, she shook her head. "I do not know you, kid. But you are to be one of God's soldiers, and Kira called you _Bright Eyes_. That will have to do until we find you another one. For now, you appear to be suffering some form of memory loss." She paused before murmuring: "Be grateful for that." In that instant, she turned away, preparing to leave.

"Wait, Miss Takada!" the boy, currently dubbed _Bright Eyes_, chirped loudly, clamoring off the gurney and reaching weak arms towards the woman; his muscles screamed with the effort put forth. "Please," he continued, lowering his voice so that it was barely a whisper. "Please, don't leave me alone. I… don't know who I am or where I came from. I don't know what's going to happen after the Initiation. I don't know if I have much of a future to look forward to. But… I do know that I don't want to be alone." His eyes turned to meet the waxed tiles on the floor, and his arms curled around himself in a pathetic excuse for a hug. "Please," he whispered again.

Takada stood with her back to him, unable to look at the boy, for she knew what fate awaited him. She wanted to comfort him. At that moment, she wanted to disobey God and take the boy in her arms, if only to tell him that he'd be okay –but that would be a lie, wouldn't it? They lived in the _New World_, and in this world, people were naught but disposable toiletries for Kira. She frowned at the thought, shook her head, and continued on her way out; she paused with her hand on the doorknob, possibly thinking of how she'd climbed so far up the statistical food chain. Her words droned robotically, as if reciting something from memory. "Kid, you can't be weak," she warned. "You need to be strong, whether or not you're alone. Or you. Are going. To _die_." Her hand twisted the knob at an angry speed; she pulled open the door with an unexpected degree of calmness, and then she was gone, walking out and letting the door shut behind her.

…

The redhead waited for an unseen amount of time. It almost depressed him that every memory he possessed came from the few hours he'd been awake.

His stomach cried out in anguish, demanding nourishment that would not be granted. He was so dehydrated. He could feel his body weakening. Still, he forced himself up and to the other end of the room, leaning heavily against a chilled wall for support. Once he found himself in front of a sink, he turned the taps, cupped his hands to catch the roaring water and splashed some onto his face. Then he closed the tap and inclined his head to look at himself in the mirror.

He looked like shit.

His skin was as white as his surroundings, if not whiter. His hair was a mop of knotted red yarn. Lips were chapped; freckles everywhere; eyes sunken in, yet disturbingly bright in color. He was skinny too, so skinny that he looked every bit as pro-ana as… _someone his old self might have known_. His mind could not conjure up the image or name of the person he desperately wanted to recall.

He continued to marvel at his appearance, placing a hand to the mirror and tracing the outlines of his own features.

He was looking at a stranger; he knew this. Somehow, the reflection didn't _feel_ like his own.

He continued to stare until his legs grew too feeble and started to buckle beneath him. Then he grappled along the wall and forced himself back to the comfort of the gurney that had seemingly become an ally.

When he lie awake, staring at the ceiling and making shapes out of shadows to pass the time, he couldn't help feeling like he was forgetting something important. Though, due to his lack of memory, the thought seemed silly, so he brushed it aside and smiled at the shape of what might have been a bunny. Or… maybe an alligator with a hat? Oh, no –it was definitely a boat. Yes, a pontoon, maybe? No… Something else.

…

Bright Eyes awoke to the sound of the door creaking open. Takada entered, and remarkably, her frightful face was losing its element of surprise.

The redhead smiled brightly at the sight of her. "Miss Takada, how long do I have to stay here? I'm physically weakened, but other than that, I feel fine."

Takada said nothing, approaching slowly and retrieving a small white tablet from her pocket. "Here, I need you to take this."

Bright Eyes frowned. "A pill? What's it for?" He took the tablet and rolled it between his fingers.

The woman refused to answer right away, walking over to the sink and filling up a Dixie cup with lukewarm water. She brought the cup back to the redhead and placed it in his hand. "Just take the pill." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if holding back pain from a wound that could not be seen on her person. "The Initiation will be starting shortly. This pill will block out most of the feelings in your nerves and make you sleepy soon. It will lessen the pain you feel, and with any luck, you'll live long enough to make something of yourself." She ran a hand through the red mop atop his head and looked directly into his jaded eyes. "You're a strong boy. Don't give up. Whether or not you remember, there are people who care about you." With that, she turned away, muttering: "I must go; Kira wants me to polish his shoes and schedule some time for him to induct the new soldier recruits." And, for the umpteenth time, she left the boy again.

Bright Eyes was starting to get pretty tired of being left alone. Still, he sucked up his feelings, popped the pill into his mouth, and swallowed it with the aide of the water. His throat thanked him for the hydration, and he desperately craved more, but the moment his gaze found the sink, he remembered his struggle for getting there. It seemed terribly far away.

No, water wasn't important enough to strain his debilitated body. He'd get a drink later. For now, he just stayed on the gurney, content to know that somewhere, someone wanted him. Someone cared. And someday, he'd find whoever that person was, and he'd never be left alone again. The thought made him smile, and he closes his eyes, waiting for blissful unconsciousness to take hold.

But it never did.

Just then, the door was forced open and a strange man in doctor's garb scurried in, eyes glinting like a madman as he gripped the railing of the gurney and quickly began to wheel it out of the room. "Time for your Initiation!" he shrieked, a strange laugh bubbling from his mouth, slightly distorted by a ridged face mask that hid his lips with the intent on staving germs.

The gurney was wheeled into a circular room filled with spectators. The crazy man slipped on a pair of latex gloves and steampunk goggles before he manhandled the redhead from the gurney onto a cold metal table.

Only now did the redhead's lack of clothing process. He was wearing naught but a pair of pale blue socks and a matching paper gown.

Chilled shackles wound themselves around the boy's wrists, ankles, and torso, effectively binding him. Still, the green eyed teen remained calm. He forced his facial expression to remain slack, apathetic, and the pill he'd taken minutes ago was already working to relax his muscles. He was the epitome of calm as far as appearances go. And even his thought process had subdued its pace, though it remained quite rational.

_Yes, this was the Initiation, and he was but a candidate. Yes, there would be pain and blood; his own self would be beaten and broken and who knows what else. Yes, something could go wrong, and a wound might turn fatal, forcing him into an early introduction with Death himself. But he would be strong. He would hold onto the idea of someone waiting for him. One day, when his soldier days are behind him, he'd find someone to love him and make all those insecure feelings go away_.

He mentally conjured the image of a red-eyed man with messy black hair, crawling around like an animal and smiling so sweetly at a bodacious blonde, though… sadly, the redhead pushed the thought of those two aside, unable to remember them and not wanting the headache that came with trying to break the barrier that stood between his old self and current self.

For now, he kept his eyes wide open and focused on the cheering crowd as the dark haired main announced the ceremony. "Welcome… to the first part of this child's _Initiation_! Gelus couldn't make it, but I am Ryuk, and I will be your entertainer for the time being. Now, allow me to introduce Kira's newest candidate for soldierhood." He paused for dramatic effect, allowing anticipation befall the crowd. Even the redhead grew slightly eager, wondering if he might hear his real name. Alas, this was not the case. The introduction continued. "Allow me to introduce: _Bright Eyes_! Oh, yes! This lovely little boy has bright red hair, startling green eyes, and is as cute as a button. But you know what we do to the cute ones, don't you?" More taunts, jeers, and so much laughter.

The noise was deafening.

_Make the laughter stop._ Someone, please cover this teen's ears. He didn't want to hear it anymore. His body felt so heavy, and his mind was growing hazy. Still, he could pick out the sounds of their mirth.

They were laughing at his expense. _Please, make it stop. Make it stop. Shut them up, please! The noise. So loud. Stop it. Stop. No._

He missed the safety of the white room and gurney. Where were the friendly shapes he'd imagined from the shadows that danced on his walls? What of the woman with the horrific face? At least things were quiet earlier.

Now, all he wanted was peace.

But, no one silenced. In fact, everyone grew louder, their sounds finally forming words. "_Mutilation_" was chanted over and over by people clapping hands and stomping feet, creating an ominous rhythm as they waited for blood to be shed.

A large cart full of various medical supplies and gardening tools was pushed into view by a pale, sickly-thin woman who was covered in bruises and looked ready to drop at any given moment.

"Thank you, Rem," said the man named Ryuk, stealing himself a set of shears before setting them aside and deciding to start elsewhere. After a brief moment of contemplation, he picked it up again. "Would you like to lose a finger, or a toe? Or maybe I should just scare up that pretty face of yours," he cackled in a rather obnoxious manor. He sounded congested.

The shears clipped the air a few times, teasing the redheaded boy with the sound of metal blades sliding together angrily.

Clip. Clip. Clip.

The shears drew closer.

Green eyes closed, unwilling to watch his own torture.

Clip. Clip. Clip.

So close. Icy metal pressed flat against his inner thigh.

Clip.

The candidate's breath hitched. And only now did he realize how everything seemed to amplify. From his own breathing to the snipping sound of the moving shears. The crowd had fallen silent, as if wanting to clearly hear every cry that would surely fill the room at any moment.

Another clip, the blade sliding further up his leg, barely missing his genitals.

When pain ceased to register, he opened his eyes and realized that the shears were simply being used to cut off the gown. It was unnerving. The relief would be short lived, and he knew it. So he closed his eyes again and waited.

Whatever pill Takada had given him must surely be working its magic, because he was suddenly fatigued, his mind drifting into a chasm it didn't wish to be in. It was dark. And lonely. And no one could hear him scream.

…

He did hear screaming. In fact, that's what startled him awake. The more he listened to it, the more he realized that the intervals of wailing matched his own oral movements. Thus, he rationed that the screams were his own.

He repressed his cries and stabilized his respiration. Then he forced his eyes open and assessed his surroundings. He was in an upright position as if standing, though his back was supported, as if he were laying down. He could feel gravity altering the tide of circulation in his body, making his head dizzy, his upper body fragile, and his legs tingly, as if they'd fallen asleep.

It didn't take a genius to realize that he was incapable of moving, nor that his wrists were outstretched and bound while his ankles were crossed and restrained similarly.

A mirror stood some feet across from him, allowing a view of what had been done to him. To his surprise, he was naked and bound, but he was otherwise untouched. What confused him further was that he was tied to what appeared to be a large wooden cross, very much in the style of a crucifixion.

"Sweet Jesus," the boy rasped, gazing at his reflection, knowing that what he saw… wasn't who he was supposed to be. And it wasn't just the amnesia. No, the intuition was too strong for it to be a trick of the mind.

A voice fell into his ears, reaching out from behind and holding him in a warm embrace that never reached his skin. No. The comfort that came from hearing this voice was false; a terrible trickery. "Your God has come to see you, Bright Eyes." That voice, those words –they could only belong to Kira.

"G-God?" His throat was parched; his voice was pathetic.

"Relax, Bright Eyes. I'm only going to hurt you a little bit." Those words did nothing to soothe the fear that suddenly pierced the teen's very soul. "Now, I understand that this fate must seem unappealing, but I assure you that it is necessary." He moved in front, between the candidate and the mirror. Then he held up his hands to reveal three thick stakes in one hand and a hammer in the other. "It is the only way to win the Great War that is approaching."

The redhead inwardly begged for the calm relief that had previously been offered by that little pill. It had been so nice to think with reason rather than terror, but now it seems that the effects were gone completely, and he was about to have large nails driven into his body. "Wh-Why? Why, God?"

_Yes, beg and cry. Plead for mercy. But from who? Which God? From the almighty Father above who might not exist? Or from the man who held your fate in his very hands, in a very literal sense? Which God would be the one to pray to? Which would be more likely to answer? Which one? What words? No… No words. Just fear. Pure unhindered fear. Amplified by loneliness, starvation, and dehydration. Yes, fear God. God can hurt you. _

Kira marveled at the naked redhead as he was forced to bear a cross that should not have been meant for him. He mentally wondered if the real Jesus Christ had questioned God. The thought lingered in his mind, even as he placed the first nail against the teen's right palm where the crease delineates the bulky region at the base of the thumb; with a sings crack of the hammer, he sent the nail in, calling forth a blood-curdling scream as liquid copper flowed and the steel spike exited through he wrist, passing through the carpal tunnel.

The brunette listened to the delicious sirens that started strong but gradually weakened. "What do you think of this Great War in the making?" he whispered, leaning close to the redhead's ear and allowing his breath to alight new sensations.

The teen was now grateful for the binding ropes, theorizing the damages that would be done had the extra restraints not been there.

Wait..._ War?. _What was this tugging in the back of his mind...?

Everything started spinning. Images of that same damn blonde and the black haired dog-like creature with her surfaced again and he couldn't push them away. Oh, God, he was getting a headache. The room was spinning and it was all Bright Eyes could do to close his eyes and let his head fall back.

_An odd looking man with black hair and red eyes... Blood red eyes...Unnerving eyes... And words. Intelligent words. Words that might someday save his life. 'Then again, perhaps this War has already begun… Yes, perhaps it has.'_

But then it was gone. No, no! It couldn't be gone; it was so clear and there in the front of the redhead's mind. It was there... And now it was gone...

"War..." he rasped. "The War… has begun. The War has begun already..." The words came out softly, as though the speaker were in a daze. The redhead let his head fall forward once more as the memories left him drained. He was so tired.

"Good answer," whispered Kira, stepping back and placing a spike to the left palm and proceeding to mimic his prior actions. This time, he moaned at hearing the dying screams; he watched the blood run down and pull at the ground. But he wasn't quite done yet. To make this a proper crucifixion, which he was so ironically aiming for, he'd need to drive the final nail into its proper place before completing this ritual…

Because it was not just a regular _Mutilation_ he was performing. No. Mutilations were a public event. Well, as public as it could get since most things that happened at Wammy's had been rather hush-hush. But this… was private, much more private than any ceremony prior to this. This was a _Mandate in Heaven_. If the redhead known as Bright Eyes is to live, recover, complete his training, and live to be 19, then he will be graced a chance to be the next Kira.

Because Kira was God on earth, but that did not extend his life. It did not grant him immortality, no matter how much he wanted it. And, one day, he would die, and he would need someone to take his place and continue his reign over the New World. Yes, Kira had once been a lost boy. He'd been drafted. But with his keen intelligence and strong will, he was blessed the chance to reign after his predecessor. And, if Bright Eyes played his cards right, he too would be _Mandated_.

Yes, Bright Eyes could be Mandated. He was worthy, that much was obvious. Kira had always admired individuals and this boy was different. His eyes... they held so much wisdom and knowledge beyond his age, even with his memories lacking.

This boy could be Mandated. Kira wanted him to be Mandated.

Of course, for that, the boy had to be humble. He had to currently know his place.

Kira fell to a squat (he did not kneel –it would dirty his pants, and Gods did not get dirty) and placed the tip of the final spike against the boy's crossed feet. He felt Bright Eyes staring down at him and he stole a glance up. He bit the inside of his cheek at the sight of hooded but impossibly brilliant green eyes watching him. Though they were exhausted and pained, those eyes were intense and wise, yet naïve. They questioned why he would do this. His lips were parted and short breaths were slipping through at a rapid pace. His forehead was beaded with sweat and that beautiful mop of red hair was hanging in limp tangles around his face, lank and just a bit dirty.

Yes. This beautiful creature before him would be the new God of the New World. Kira himself would make sure of it. With that thought lingering at the forefront of his mind, his wrist snapped forward and... stopped. The spike never was not driven in. No more blood or piercing screams. Not right now.

Kira straightened once more and looked at the crucified youth before him.

This wouldn't work. Kira couldn't get attached... But here he was. He wouldn't use the final stake. This boy was far too likely to be the new God, and his training would require the use of his feet and legs. And he would need training –yes, he would need lots of training. Kira himself would watch and hone the boy into being the new God.

Suddenly, Bright Eyes looked up at him again. Those eyes were strong, determined. There were no tears in those eyes or marring the alabaster flesh. As Kira walked away, he smirked. Yes, the child would make a perfect candidate. People would marvel at him one day. And love him. But that was a few years away. For now, soldierhood was all the boy was going to know.

…

When the redhead would next open his emerald eyes, unaware that they had even fallen shut, he would find himself in the infirmary once more, but this time, he was in a proper bed with a tray of food sitting next to him. He reached to grab for something. The apple? The fresh baked bread? The jello? The water? Regardless to what he wanted to grab, he found himself unsuccessful. His hands were thickly padded in bandages, vaguely resembling gloves that a Disney character might wear.

He was startled from examining his hands by a gruff and nasally sound.

"Aw, looks like the kiddie is awake. I should tell Kira, but what would be the point in that? I'm trying to get him fire me. I hate my job."

Bright Eyes placed his padded hands over his ears so that he wouldn't have to hear the whining. "Wh-Who are you?" he asked once he managed to make peace with the horrid voice.

A figure came into view, covered in layers upon layers of disjointed clothing. The hands that peaked out from beneath the flared sleeves were a sickly green color, and thick dark finger nails protruded like claws. But that was not the most startling thing about this person. No. This person's head was completely mummified; his eyes and mouth being all that were visible beneath the bandages.

"I go by many names. Kira calls me Sidoh." He paused long enough to pick up the glass of water and assist the youth in taking a much-needed drink. When he set it back down on the tray, he spoke again. "Don't be alarmed. The bandages are only until I finish healing from my most recent plastic surgery." He then picked up a slice of bread before offering it to redhead. "What's your name?"

The redhead looked thoughtful, green eyes blinking at intervals. "K-Kira called me Bright Eyes."

"And what bright eyes you have," he said in that awful voice. "Hurry and eat. Gather your strength before you begin your _training_."

"Training?" The adolescent asked, dumbfounded.

Sidoh nodded. "Yes, training. You will probably need a haircut. No shaggy mops aboard the convoy."

…

Sidoh assisted the teen in his endeavor to eat, for which he was grateful. Then he helped the boy to his feet and into an unflattering blue jumpsuit.

Then, as if on an assembly line, the youth was passed to a man named Demegawa, who awaited him with a pair of clippers and a heavy duffle bag. In a matter of seconds, the familiar red was gone and he found his altered reflection somewhat haunting to look at. Then the bag was slipped onto his shoulder and he was ushered out of the room and into the care of a man with long black hair and thick-rimmed glasses; he was oddly familiar, but the green eyed adolescent couldn't quite place him.

The man whom had served as his escort was named Mikami. Mikami showed obvious dislike towards him, especially when the boy inquired whether or not he'd be able to see God again. The question was never answered and the older man carted the teen off to a port at the far in London.

…

Bright Eyes would remember that day most of all. For the time being, it was his first time outside. There was no sun that his mind wanted to conjure. The sky was an ugly dull grey color, and smoke polluted the air so thickly, it hurt to breathe. And yet, when he found himself walking around near the docks and looking at passersby, he couldn't be bothered with the dreary setting, too busy admiring the hustle and bustle of the kids that looked to be his own age… but had yet to face the horrors he had.

Still, he pushed all negativity aside, found a smile, and stepped up the ramp and made his way where multiple adults seemed to be pointing him.

This was the convoy.

He immediately noticed dozens upon dozens of kids his own age, each stitched and bandaged where skin was visible; each sporting a shaved head; each wearing the ugly jumper; and each carrying the very same pre-packed duffle.

The renewed smile began to slip out of place.

…

He'd spent a full year on that convoy, training himself to be physically and mentally keen, learning to block out those pesky emotions that had once shook his very core. And now, as he docked at a foreign port in an unfamiliar land, he marched down the platform, carrying his lonely duffle and taking in his new surroundings. The sky was white, and cool flakes fell against his lean form. It was snowing, wherever he'd been left. Winter would be harsh with his lack of commodities, but he'd manage just fine. After all, he was a soldier. He could withstand anything.

He made his way away from the wharf and simply delayed. He'd been told to expect a fellow comrade to be waiting to show him to the Checkpoint.

An oddity of a person raced over enthusiastically, tripping over his or her own two feet and falling face-first. This person, luckily, was wearing a bright purple helmet to cushion the fall. "C'mon," the person said in a surprisingly childish voice. Said person adorned baggy shorts, a faded t-shirt, and skater shoes. The cold weather seemed to have no effect on him. "I'm Dizzy," the boy said.

The newly trained soldier nodded but said nothing. This stranger didn't warrant the attention, so he wouldn't give it.

The stranger huffed and crossed his arms childishly. "I said: I'm Dizzy. That's my name. Now is when you tell me yours."

"Bright Eyes," he answered without missing a beat. Though, his eyes weren't bright at all; they were dark and narrow.

And, without further attempting to converse, Dizzy led Bright Eyes to their assigned Checkpoint.

…

This place was every bit as much of a wasteland as the new soldier had come to expect. Battlements lined the perimeter and inside the cemented walls appeared to be a makeshift city, split up into groups. Small fires crackled against the winds that grew blistery.

And, as Bright Eyes and Dizzy entered a small building, a dull drone of a voice reached their ears, accompanied by fiery eyes -the color of sunset. His mouth moved, a slow droll laced with something akin to distrust. "Hey. Welcome to _The Crater_. Don't get shot. Don't get caught. And, uh, yeah. Have a Merry fuckin' Christmas."

…

* * *

**/Whoa. The ending was a bit rushed, but it's done. Not fully beta'ed, but I wanted sooo badly to get it up here! I will probably re-vamp it and fix any and all errors when I feel like it, but for now, enjoy my error-prone chappie! Oh, and keep in mind that, Matt did have his head shaved, but it happened prior to his year on the convoy. And after that year, his hair would be back. Can't work with an unattractive Matt, now can I? Also, further details about his time on the convoy will be stressed in later chapters. That said, leave a review./**


	3. Face Value

**Title:** Cinders in The Crater

**Summary:** Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DN. The plot and future OCs (Dizzy, Virus, and PennyBandit) are mine. Anything referenced is either owned by someone more respectable than I, or is purely a coincidence. That is all, thankyou.

**Author's Note:** Alright, keep up with me. Currently, Bright Eyes (aka Mail / Matt) is 14 years old, though he believes himself to be 16 due to the lie that stemmed after his bout of amnesia began. (It might be important to keep track of that.)

**Author's Note II:** Alright, in this chapter, Bright Eyes reveals a memory of his time on the Convoy. The system of currency on the Convoy is unique, though it is also similar to that which can be found in Togainu no Chi (which I do not own).

**WARNING:** This chappie is un-beta 'd. If it's too wonky, I might go back and fix things. I kinda got a little antsy after writing it and couldn't wait to post it. -CURSE MY LACK OF PATIENCE! - Have a nice read.

…

* * *

**Chapter Two: **Face Value

"Hey. Welcome to _The Crater_. Don't get shot. Don't get caught. And, uh, yeah. Have a Merry fuckin' Christmas." The words left the mouth of a teen with lime green hair and sunset-colored eyes. He sported a filthy jacket that might have been white at some time or another; beneath that was an orange wife beater. Covering his lower half was a simple pair of jeans, torn and patched dozens of times. His feet bore a pair of generic shoes that were surprisingly clean, if not slightly scuffed.

Bright Eyes regarded this teen with a nod. "Sir, where might I find my _Commanding Officer_, sir?" His voice was stern as he said this, devoid of the demeanor he'd left back in London.

"Our Commanding Officer has gone AWOL. I am _Second in Command_ here," the green haired teen said, shifting in his seat before placing his hands on ringed-rims that bordered his chair. His shoulders lurched and he glided forward.

Upon further inspection, Bright Eyes noticed that the soldier who claimed to be his superior was crippled and in a wheelchair.

"The name's Virus," he said, lessening the gap between himself and the newer soldier before extending his hand. When he was met with naught but a rather intense stare, he dropped his hand to his lap and looked to the teen in the purple helmet. "Since this guy isn't feeling too chatty, mind filling me in?" His once-dull voice had perked up as he spoke to the strange one.

Dizzy jumped in place a few times, as if to release pent-up energy before flinging his arms out, playing a child's game of make-believe airplane. His lips pressed together and vibrated, making a mock-engine sound.

Virus simply smiled sweetly and waited patiently, understanding that there was something rather _special_ about this adolescent.

When Dizzy was done playing his odd little game, he leapt into the chair-bound soldier's lap and proceeded to babble. "Well, first I was a train. _Chugga-chugga_! Then I was a cowboy, gallivanting up and down along the pier on my horse. _Giddy-up_! Then the Convoy pulled up and docked, whooping its horn and alerting me to focus on the new arrivals! And so I did. I scoped out everyone, located a target that fit the description of our newest comrade, and then I charged onto the scene. Hit my head, too! _Ouchie_! Then I told him my name. His name is Bright Eyes, by the way. And he's a meanie. Not much for talking, nope." The rant came to a close and the helmeted teen slipped from his perch and proceeded to bounce around the room.

"Bright Eyes, huh?" asked Virus, looking over the stoic soldier while taking on a perplexed expression. "In that case, either your personality really sucks, or that little trip on the Convoy fucked you up. There's no need to be rude to Dizzy."

Bright Eyes said nothing, dropping his duffle to the floor and taking a seat on a small cement bench that lined the eastern wall. He spread his legs and perched his elbows on his knees; he surveyed the small entirety that was his surroundings.

In the blink of an eye and a blur of purple, Dizzy had swiped the duffle and crouched in a corner before emptying the bag's fillings onto the floor. He named off the contents as he sifted through them. "One change of clothes. Two bottles of water. A near-empty container of pills. A notebook. And a couple chocolate bars." Dizzy frowned, reaching a hand to adjust his helmet. "How boring. And, what's _this_?" He grabbed a small box and lifted the lid. Inside were dozens of metal tags.

Virus watched Dizzy's curiosity unfold; meanwhile, Bright Eyes seemed wary, though it was hard to pinpoint what would cause his worry.

"Sir, I know it is not my place to question my superiors, but why aren't we preparing for battle? From the looks of it, supplies are scarce, as are the number of men on our side. Why are we sitting around, doing nothing?" His voice was without emotion; though, his eyes were unexpectedly intense, focused. He erected his posture and gripped his knees, knuckles whitening.

The green-haired teen turned narrow eyes on the redhead, clearly offended. "_Sitting around_? You want to know why we're _sitting_ around?" He looked down briefly before seizing the wheels of his chair and turning towards the door. He forced the door open with surprising ease and rolled himself out; raising his voice to recompense the distance he was putting between himself and his comrades, he called back to them. "The Crater is split into five sections. This is the Eastern Wing of The Crater. It is where our troops are stationed. There is also a Northern, Western, and Southern Wing, each housing troops of their own. In the very middle of The Crater is a Supply Center; food and supplies are delivered weekly. Next to the Supply Center is a Med Center; currently, there is no one on staff, so don't bother to show up if you get injured." He halted his chair, closed his eyes, and forced himself calm. "Also, Bright Eyes, be careful. Aside from your assigned Wing and the Centers, the rest of the territory in The Crater is considered no man's land. Basically, it's war. Everybody for themselves. Protect your troops. Protect yourself. Don't leave here unarmed." With those words, he shut the door and veered himself away. He didn't need some new guy telling him how to do his job.

Yes, he was in a wheelchair, but there was a time when he wasn't. There was a time when he was able-bodied and on the frontline, slashing throats and dodging bullets. There was a time when he was dragging corpses off the battlefield to be cremated. But he'd slipped up and taken a bullet to the shin; the bone had shattered. And with no one available at the Med Center, he was unable to get properly treated on time; his legs were useless. Beneath his knees, he felt nothing. And he had very little mobility in his upper legs. The wheelchair was found by a fellow soldier during a recon mission. Since then, he'd been less active in a physical sense, but his mind had remunerated, working in ways he never allowed it to before.

He'd been trained to _fight_, not to _think_. In fact, thinking was something he'd been beaten for during his stay on the Convoy. But those days were long gone. He'd lost his ability to participate in combat, but he'd be damned if he was going to give up fighting for the good of all mankind –for the peaceful world Kira had envisioned for them all.

No, he was no longer stabbing or strangling, but he wasn't useless. He'd re-wired his brain and become a Tactician. Under the scrutiny of his Commanding Officer, he called the shots and planned their attacks accordingly, making certain that no soldier was left behind.

Since he'd lost his legs and became the Tactician for the troops on the Eastern Wing, they'd yet to carry a body of their own to the incinerator. That had to mean something, didn't it?

So… where did this new guy get off on questioning him?

…

Bright Eyes was left alone with Dizzy. Dizzy had returned the items to their respective duffle, keeping out only the metal box of shiny tags.

The tags had words engraved into them –brief scriptures from the Christian bible.

"Bright Eyes, what are these for?" Dizzy gestured to the tags, beginning to arrange them in a quaint pattern.

The redhead shrugged. "Friends," was all he said.

Dizzy cocked his head, as if confused. "You had this many friends?" He slowly began to count. He seemed astonished at the sheer number.

Bright Eyes ran a hand through his hair, as if staving off exasperation. He got up and retrieved his duffle bag. "No," he said calmly, hauling the bag onto his shoulder and sparing a cold look to the items in question. "Never had friends. Never needed them."

"But you said…-"

"I said that they were friends. I didn't say they were _my_ friends." He did not elaborate further as he approached the door and kicked it open.

He needed to go somewhere; he needed to do something. His training had prepared him for an onslaught; he couldn't just wait around. And if his Commanding Officer had really gone AWOL, then what was keeping him here in the Eastern Wing?

A Great War was stirring, and he'd kill (literally) to get that first taste of victory.

…

He didn't know how long ago he'd offended Virus and left Dizzy, nor did he give a damn. In his mind, they were weak for not seizing the enemy straight away. So, he'd just have to take measure into his own hands. Being without a Commanding Officer, what else was he supposed to do?

A good soldier stood his ground in the torridness of the spur; a better soldier didn't need such silly and cliché gimmicks. And Bright Eyes was an excellent soldier, if the remarks from the Convoy's staff were anything to go on.

On the Convoy, Lieutenant Soichirou, an aging man with ample experience and wisdom to share, had commented time and time again on the temperament the teen had vis-à-vis the bodies that tumbled to the field around him, brought to the brink of extinction by his own hands.

Yes, he recalled his training quite well. It would forever weigh on his heart, tugging at feelings that no longer existed.

…

_Day one was the easiest. He'd been introduced to countless teens with shaved heads and ugly blue jumpers. He'd been assigned a room and told that lunch would be served in an hour. He found his room with ease, surprised to find that it was not only very reminiscent of a 6x6 jail cell, but it was also supposed to house him and seven other people. It seemed impossible; the room could barely hold the eight of 'em while they stood shoulder-to-shoulder._

_Lunch on the first day had been a cruel joke. Hours past, and the body heat of eight bodies in a small room made the youths sweaty and irritable to the point of becoming verbally aggressive, short-fused, and quick-fisted._

_Presumably, three days had passed without the allowance of a food, exercise, or bathroom breaks._

_They'd gone stir-crazy._

_Day four was different. The teens, including Bright Eyes, had become hostile. A man with a square jaw, graying hair, and a naval uniform approached the cell door, key in hand. He introduced himself as Soichirou before he slid the key into the lock and released the odorous adolescents. They were escorted to the Mess Hall by this man._

_The Mess Hall was like a cafeteria of sorts. Tables filled the room, bordered by chairs; each chair was filled with complaining young men and women._

_Soichirou and two of his men, Mogi and Aizawa, stood back, guarding the only exit the Mess Hall had to offer. _

"_Welcome to the Mess Hall. This is where you will be eating. But, not all of you will get to eat. Food will be given in rations. Rations will be awarded to those with a sufficient number of points. Points are gained in many ways." Soichirou explained this portion._

_Mogi, a burly man with a clean-shaven face and enough muscle mass to frighten a professional wrestler, spoke next, gesturing to a series of crates bolted to the floor along the perimeter. "You will find weapons and tools at your disposal. Make use of whatever you can. Trust no one other than those you are rooming with."_

_Aizawa seemed to be the most reserved towards the subject, but he did speak with resilience. "All is fair in love and war. And, kids... This. Is. War. No one is really your ally. No one."_

_Soichirou inspected the frightened and confused expressions of the gawking teens. "You have thirty minutes to earn points. The person with the most points will be given a prize. The person with the least will be eradicated."_

_Bright Eyes had been just a timid boy back then; his hands were still bleeding through the bandages from the odd form of Mutilation Kira had gifted to him. There was no way he could overpower the others. Then again, they were injured too, in other ways. _

_Still, ten minutes flew by before anyone made a move._

"_Twenty minutes left. If no one gets any points, no one eats and five of you will be killed. Think about that, but not too long. Time is running out."_

_Another five minutes._

"_Fifteen minutes left."_

_No one seemed eager to participate in this primal event._

"_Ten minutes."_

_And it finally began. One teen stood so abruptly, his chair was knocked over. He picked up his chair and waylaid the nearest person._

_After that, it was an all-out brawl. Strong or weak, male or female. Nothing mattered except getting hits in and blocking the attacks that came your way._

_The crates held knives and blunt instruments such as crowbars, clubs, and things of the like. By the time Soichirou announced: "Times Up," teens were sprawled all over the ground, bloody and whimpering, tangled up in one another's limbs and trying to get a few more points by kicking or slapping anything they could reach. A good ten or so remained standing. _

_Bright Eyes hadn't won. He'd been one of the first trainees to hit the ground. His hands were useless, and his legs hadn't much strength to begin with. But… he lived. And at the time, that was good enough._

_Three bodies were carted out of the room and tossed overboard. Those nameless kids had been fatally stabbed and bled out. _

_The winner had been a blue-eyed boy with a crowbar in each hand and a nasty scowl on his face._

_Bright Eyes didn't recognize him; he must've been locked in a cell towards the other end of the Convoy._

_Soichirou announced the winner's name to be Mello, though it was hard to say how he could tell all the skin-heads apart._

_Mogi presented the prize, which had been a small tin box._

_Mello simply bared his teeth, raised the crowbar and whacked the box from Mogi's hand before retrieving the now-dented prize and peering inside._

_Inside were metal tags. _

_The blue-eyed boy looked unhappy about his prize and simply tossed it aside. "I'll take food instead –preferably chocolate. Give my prize to some other loser." With that, he tightened his hold on one of the weapons and cracked it against the thigh of a nearby teen. "Move it or lose it, bitch," he snarled, shoving his way through the crowd that remained standing and stepping on those who had already fallen._

_Bright Eyes watched Mello in awe before sneaking over and retrieving the box. In theory, if it had been awarded, it had to be valuable for some reason or another._

_And… he'd been right. Tags worked like currency. Points could be won or bought by trading tags. He found this out the following day when everyone was given handbooks to study._

…

Bright Eyes found his mind drifting to his time on the Convoy, and he couldn't find it in himself to feel bad for anything he'd done. It was all about survival. He didn't have any regrets. He was alive. And he had a purpose in life.

Fight for Kira. Do God's bidding. Purge the New World of those who are deemed unworthy.

Even now, all those silly alliances and promises he'd made on the Convoy seemed so silly. But at the time, it was necessary. He knew that the injuries to his hands put him at a disadvantage. So he saved up the tags. Made friends. Stole their tags. Saved up more. Traded in hundreds of tags for medical attention to his hands.

Once fully healed, he turned his back on everyone. He wasn't vulnerable anymore; he didn't need them. He was a soldier. He had a purpose. And all he wanted was to survive and serve God.

In a sense, he'd become Kira's dog, though he'd never openly admit it. Pride was one of the few things that never quite left him.

Even now, as he breached the barrier between the Eastern and Western Wing and invaded what could be perceived as enemy territory, pride was one of the things that fueled his ambition.

Upon entering the Western Wing, he kept his back to the wall and his body in the shadows as much as possible, though he relaxed his stance to lessen suspicion in case he'd been spotted. Much to his dismay, this place appeared to be equipped far better than their own portion of the bunker, holding supplies in excess and practically crawling with soldiers on patrol or returning from a recon mission.

Bright Eyes crouched in a corner near a burlap sack full of fresh clothes –more ugly jumpsuits, all of which were the same blue color. He grabbed a jumper and quickly changed his garb, glad for the slightly warmer feeling that enveloped him after he did.

It was still snowing, he noticed, though it didn't matter. The weather on the Convoy had been brutal more often than not, so a few inches of slush around his feet were practically nothing.

He stuffed his dirty clothes into his duffle and slung it over his shoulder before casually stepping in line with a few soldiers that were on patrol. He kept his head low, his hair covering his face from people who might think better of letting him tail them.

Keeping silent, he caught snippets of conversation, whispered, like it was a secret.

"I don't like this; it's wrong! He fought alongside us –saved my life more than once."

"I know, but what else were we supposed to do?"

"There's gotta be something we can do."

"There's nothing, trust me. I've exhausted my brain trying to figure this out. Our Commanding Officer wants Virus' head on a platter, and that's what he's going to get. I just hope I'm not involved."

Bright Eyes listened; he didn't really care though. It didn't matter what happened to Virus. Virus was weak. Virus was a cripple. Virus was in the way.

Just then, another voice boomed loudly, bold in its feminine resonance, uncaring if she was heard. "And Virus is the closest thing Dizzy has to family. I thought we all agreed that Dizzy of the Eastern Wing was off limits. Virus has watched and protected that boy from the very beginning. I don't want a hair on either of their heads to be touched. Got that?"

The two that had been conversing prior the entrance of this woman seemed rigid and nervous.

"Yes PennyBandit, but that goes against the Commanding Officer's wishes! We can't do that, can we?"

The woman cocked a hip and ran a hand through her long dark hair, scowling when her fingers became tangled in a knotted strand. "Listen, this is how it's goin' down. We're gonna…-" her voice trailed off; her eyes suddenly turned to focus on Bright Eyes, whom was still keeping close with his face directed away from them. "Oh, honey, are you new?" Her bold tone suddenly sounded sweeter. "Disregard everything you just heard, soldier. Can I get your name? I'll head back to the inner sanctum of the Western Wing, fill out the paperwork, and then assign you to a post."

Bright Eyes kept quiet, assessing the situation to the best of his ability. His eyes roamed the ground, spotting something of use. A lead pipe lay, rusted and waiting to be utilized. And so, he did. He dropped to the ground, grasped the pipe, and rolled a safe distance before hopping to his feet and falling into a natural fighting stance. "Bright Eyes, newest recruit of the Eastern Wing. And I'm not here to mingle, so don't try and smooth talk me."

And PennyBandit burst into laughter, doubling over as if she'd heard the funniest joke in the world. "You're one of the boys from the _East_? You're with Virus and Dizzy? Sorry, soldier, but you're actin' more like a Southern trooper. You sure you're not from the Southern Wing? Cutthroats and harlots, the lot of 'em." She paused before making a series of hand gestures akin to sign language, issuing a silent command to the two soldiers that flanked her.

Together, the two nameless boys tackled the redhead and pinned him to the ground.

PennyBandit smiled approvingly, approaching and stepping on the Eastern soldier's wrist to coax him into releasing the weapon. Then she picked up said weapon and inspected it, letting off a gasp of surprise at what she saw. "Your hands! They left an imprint in the solid lead pipe!" She looked back and forth between the pipe and the hands of the grounded soldier. "What's wrong with your hands?" Her inquiry was naught by a harsh whisper amongst the wind that had begun to blow harder.

Snow seeped through the clothes Bright Eyes was wearing, but he forced himself to ignore the cold. He simply closed his eyes and kept calm, focused. He needed a plan of escape and a plan of attack.

"You may be a well-trained soldier, but you still have a lot to learn if you think you can just stroll in here and do whatever the hell you want." Again, it was PennyBandit. She finally removed her foot from Bright Eyes' wrist and walked off, signaling for her comrades to pursue.

Obediently, they got to their feet, pulling the redhead up and forcing him along. To their surprise, he didn't fight back; he simply followed along wordlessly.

…

Yes, Bright Eyes was cold, his clothes damp. Flakes continued to fall. One particular one flittered and fell onto his nose and he went cross-eyed to glare at it until it melted away.

PennyBandit and her comrades had ushered and locked him into a decrepit one-roomed building with crumbling cement walls and a non-existent ceiling.

The nameless boys worked as a team to get a fire going, one gathering and arranging logs while the other produced matches and gasoline.

The redhead settled himself in the corner, as far away from them as he could get. He had to think. Something was off. Where were the mercenaries that would surely slit his throat for lollygagging? Where were the angry gunshots that would pierce his flesh and cause agonizing pain? Why was he thrown amongst a group of nobodies who acted like complete imbeciles?

He glanced up, green eyes drinking in the intensity of the fire; he wanted so badly to walk over, kneel before the flames, and warm up just a little, but his damn pride told him not to.

The boys had already seated themselves near the fire; PennyBandit joined them. Nobody said anything, nor did they indicate stress towards having a potential threat so close to them.

After several minutes more, Bright Eyes almost considered swallowing his pride and joining them, but he held strong. He had to. God wanted him to be strong and independent.

The woman unzipped and shrugged her jacket off, tossing it behind her in the general direction of the Eastern soldier. "Ya might not understand this yet, but us Westies and you Eastern folk traditionally get along, knucklehead. Virus and Dizzy are like family to me. We're not like the Northies or Southern troops; they're constantly out for blood. Just take it easy for a bit. And for God's sake, use my jacket! It's warm, and if you get sick, there ain't no Med staff 'round." A hint of a Brooklyn accent fell from her mouth as the passion in her voice grew. The sound suited her.

Reluctantly, Bright Eyes pulled the jacket on and pulled his knees to himself, trying to collect as much heat as possible without moving closer to the trio.

The two Westie boys grew tired and lay near the fire, falling asleep under the watchful eye of the female. When the once-blazing inferno died down to smoldering embers, ash, and smoke, PennyBandit got up and moved to sit next to the redhead they'd apprehended.

He visibly tensed at the close proximity.

"The Convoy really did a number on you, didn't it?" Her voice was sorrowful and quiet as she said this, craning her neck to get a good look at the youth's face. She wasn't quite sure what she saw behind his eyes, but it worried her. "What happened to you? I'm not stupid; we all went through it, but… you're different." She placed calloused hand on his, unsurprised when he jerked away from her touch. "Please," she said softly, taking one of his hands in both of hers. As gently as possible, she thoroughly examined the hand.

The green-eyed soldier refused to look at her. When her fingers slowly left his hand and he could feel her questioning gaze on him, he explained. "I… am a messenger of God." He held out both hands, palms facing upwards, revealing deep cross-shaped scars. "My hands… were useless after this happened." He slowly turned his hands over and clenched them into fists, tightening the skin around his knuckles and revealing another oddity.

The bones in his hands were startlingly defined, appearing rather dark beneath his insipid complexion.

"Your grip was imprinted on that pipe," she commented.

He kept his gaze away from her, unwilling to look her in the eye; unable understand why she suddenly seemed so easy to talk to. "On the Convoy. Tags. Hundreds. Traded them. For this."

PennyBandit took each of his hands in her own and squeezed lightly, feeling absolutely no body heat radiating, and instead feeling the chill of steel. "It must've hurt."

He didn't answer right away. The very gesture of someone touching him, let alone holding his hands –it seemed foreign, if not a bit intimate. "My muscles and nerves were unscathed; they did what they could. I have proper use of 9 out of ten of my fingers, though my hands hurt. A lot. Specifically when I hit things."

She hesitantly released his hands and turned her eyes to the sky. "It stopped snowing," she said pleasantly. "Let's get you back to the Eastern Wing. Virus may seem like an ass, but he's not so bad once you get to know him."

"Virus is weak," Bright Eyes said bitterly.

"Virus is smart," PennyBandit corrected. "There are many different kinds of strengths. You'll do wise to learn that."

Those words concluded their conversation as PennyBandit literally kicked her boys awake and told them to gather supplies to take to the soldiers on the East. Naturally, they saluted and scurried off to do just that.

The boys returned in a matter of minutes, each carrying rucksacks and canteens.

…

The trip from the West to the East was uneventful. No trysts of any kind had occurred, though the redhead was almost certain he'd noticed a bit of PDA between the Westie boys.

PennyBandit led the way into the inner sanctum of the Eastern Wing before cupping her hands around her mouth and yelling: "Viiiire! Dizzers!"

Sure enough, a familiar purple helmet came into view, and beneath it was a smiling face on a bobbing head and a jittery body. "Penny!" Dizzy shouted back to her, flinging his arms around her waist and nuzzling his face into her stomach. He pulled back and gestured to the redhead. "You know Bright Eyes?"

PennyBandit nodded. "Yes, and he was kind enough to remind me to bring your supplies." She winked at the helmeted teen as her own comrades set to work at emptying their sacks and putting everything into the near-empty storage closets –as if this were routine to them.

Bright Eyes had never felt so confused before in his life. Nothing made sense.

"Where's Virus?" the woman asked, placing her hands on her hips and watching Dizzy scramble to look at the supplies that had been brought.

The teen in question shrugged as he grabbed a canteen and a handful of sugar packets. (Bright Eyes almost asked how sugar could be considered supplies, but he didn't need to. Nope, it became clear enough when Dizzy began to rip open the packets and eat the sweet preservative.) "Virus left hours ago. Bright Eyes made him mad."

"Hours ago?" The woman frowned, her brows knitting and her lips forming a thin line. "Congratulations, Bright Eyes. In the absence of your Commanding Officer, I'm issuing your first mission. Retrieval. Find Virus and bring him back, unharmed."

Dizzy smiled brightly. "Let me go too! Virus will want to see me! And, what if he needs transportation?" He crouched down and held up his hands, pretending to hold a steering wheel before honking an invisible horn and making all the silly noises that went with his brand of play.

"Dizzers," PennyBandit began, but the wide-eyed expression of the teen made her fall silent. "Alright," she reluctantly agreed. Her eyes narrowed on Bright Eyes. "You better keep him safe. Or I'll make your trip on the Convoy look like a fuckin' picnic." Her tone was clipped but the smile she gave was serene.

…

After making sure that Dizzy was adequately prepared with snacks, water bottles, a stuffed penguin, and warm clothes, PennyBandit helped him to adjust the strap on his helmet before leaving with her comrades, heading back to the Western Wing.

Once alone, Bright Eyes tried not to appear too annoyed with the _special_ soldier.

"Alright, Dizzy," said the redhead, trying not to question how the helmeted adolescent had managed to get to The Crater in one piece. "We'll split up. It'll make our search faster. I already surveyed the Western Wing, which is where I ran into PennyBandit. We're already in the East, so all that's left is the North and South, right?"

Dizzy looked worried. "But, Bright Eyes! I'm not supposed to go near the Northern or Southern Wings!" His eyes were fearful; he bit his lip, resembling a child who'd just discovered the theory of having monsters under the bed.

But Bright Eyes simply stared him down, pinning him in place with green eyes that were too dark and unsettling for the name he'd been given. "We'll split up," he affirmed. "I'll trek North. You go South. We'll meet up at the Supply Center before returning here. Got it?"

Dizzy, for once, was silent. He clutched his stuffed penguin like his life depended on it.

"Get going. I'll be out in a minute. We congregate at the Center in thirty minutes. Don't be late."

And Dizzy stepped out into the cold, and began a solo journey to the Southern Wing of The Crater.

Bright Eyes, on the other hand, changed his clothes yet again, slipping PennyBandit's jacket on for added warmth before raiding the sanctum for weapons. He was glad to find himself a Walther P99 handgun and a buckskin knife. Once he was ready, he tightened the laces on his combat boots, grabbed his trusty duffle and left.

…

The trip to the North shouldn't have been difficult, but it was. And yet, Bright Eyes found himself comfortably at home as he avoided the ultra-sensitive landmines and trip-wires. He'd been trained for instances like this. He ducked behind a large sandstone and drew the P99.

_No, guns are loud. He wanted to remain undetected. _

He slipped the gun into one of the many pockets lining his jumper before drawing a knife and flicking the blade.

_Much better._

His eyes scanned the premises. He quickly found and approached his first obstacle. A lone guard, heavily armed and quite wary.

Perhaps the Northies had taken Virus hostage? It was worth looking into.

The redheaded Eastern solider had to be smart about his method of infiltration. He didn't want to alert too many people and warrant his own demise.

He snuck up on the other militant and clamped a hand over his mouth while pressing the blade of his knife against a soft throat. He felt the body stiffen in his hold. The knife bit into the flesh, but not enough to be lethal. He kept his hand latched over the soldier's jaw as he drew the knife and a small waterfall of crimson began to spill. Seconds ticked away, and Bright Eyes dropped the body unceremoniously.

Then he knelt next to the corpse and looted anything that might be useful, successful in thieving a pair of gloves, which were quickly pulled over his hands; a key ring, which would surely come in handy; and odd eye apparel.

He was in the midst of inspecting a silver frame with mirrored lenses when he heard shouting.

"Fuck you, asshole! Why would I tell you anything?" Someone was angry – _no_! Someone was fuckin' pissed.

In a bout of spontaneity and a mild show of curiosity, the redhead slipped the eye apparel on, gasping quietly as his vision became bathed in orange; he'd never thought that a simple change in color could be so wondrous. He pushed the bewilderment aside and pressed a key into the lock of what appeared to be a cellar. Then he walked in, finding himself in a long corridor, unlike anything the East or West had to offer.

"I don't take shit from anybody, so just leave me the fuck alone!" That voice, louder this time. So strong and firm. Not weak at all. It couldn't be Virus, and yet, the redhead's inquisitive nature drove him to investigate.

He took the halls and stairs with quick strides, coming to a halt when he reached a wooden door with a series of combination locks. And without missing a beat, his fingers set to work, systematically finding the correct sequence of numbers and pulling the locks off. He hastily tore open the door and was awestruck by what he saw.

Whoever this teen's tormentors were, they'd already left, but that's not what had won the attention of the Eastern soldier. No…

Even in the guise of an orange glow, those fiery eyes that peered at him still took his breath away.

He knew that face, those eyes, and that scowl. The shoulder-length blonde hair was new, but that didn't matter.

"The fuck you lookin' at, pussy?"

Okay, so maybe it wasn't a heartfelt reunion or anything, but Bright Eyes was almost certain he knew this teen.

He looked him over one last time before strutting over and using his bloody buckskin knife to slice through the ropes that were wound a little too tightly around the blonde, leaving angry marks in their wake.

"You're helping me? I don't fuckin' need help! I need information, you dolt! I'm a captive by choice!" He looked peeved, refusing to move from the chair he'd been previously bound to. He appeared to be seething.

And Bright Eyes laughed. "Same ol' Mello."

…

* * *

**/Lot's going on. Questions? Comments? Concerns? –Aside from asking the fates of Dizzy and Virus, because I will not disclose that info until the next chappie. Also, I've gotta know! Were you a bit peeved that our lead protagonist left Dizzy to go off on his own? **_**I'm the writer, and even I was upset about it! **_** –In any case, please review!/**


	4. Never Surrender

**Title:** Cinders in The Crater

**Summary:** Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DN. The plot and OCs (Dizzy, Virus, and PennyBandit) are mine. Anything referenced is either owned by someone more respectable than I, or is purely a coincidence. That is all, thankyou.

**Thank My Beta: **If you haven't yet (and even if you have) THANK CATATONIC VANITY!

**Author's Note:** I totally suck at writing action scenes, so THE ABSOLUTELY AND TOTALLY ASTONISHING CATATONICVANITY (my epic Beta) HAS HELPED ME WITH IT! Basically, I wrote a raw version of what I wanted to happen, sent it to her, and she doctored it all up… LIKE A SURGEON! Yeah, put your hands together and make some noise, yo! Thank MY Sauce for coming to my aide! She's the Senzu Bean to my Goku! (*red-faced* Okay, that was lame. Please disregard that! But thank her anyways!)

**Mine:** Along with Dizzy, Virus, and PennyBandit, I wish to stake claim to the two Westie boys; I feel they deserve an honorable mention here. And I also want to credit myself for mentioning Bucky, Serotonin, and Demo.

…

* * *

**Chapter Three: **Never Surrender

"Same ol' Mello," Bright Eyes said; he was smiling. He hadn't smiled in so long that his jaw was actually sore from the contortion of muscle.

The blonde scoffed and stood from his seat. "Don't call me that. Don't look at me like we're old friends or something. I don't have friends. I especially don't have friends who call me by _that_ wretched name."

The redhead shrugged, but his expression was rather gleeful and unlike his usual self. He reached a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back and holding them away from his face. "Say what ya want, but imagine this all shaved and me all bloody and crawling around on the floor while you kick some major ass."

Mello gave him a hard stare before shaking his head. "Doesn't ring a bell. Now leave. I have things to do. I need to be here long enough to find out the battlefront tactics of these idiots."

"So, you're a spy? You shouldn't be telling me that. If you truly don't remember me, then you should think me an enemy." Bright Eyes tried for logic, but his insides bubbled with a strange warm feeling when he spoke to this person. It was unsettling, but not unwelcomed.

"You're an idiot, not a threat."

"You don't' know what I've been through –or what I'm capable of. You only knew me for forty-eight hours before I helped you sneak off the Convoy."

The blonde's eyes widened a fraction but before he could verbally retort, footsteps sounded, rapidly tapping the hard flooring. Someone was approaching quickly. Assessing the situation, Bright Eyes quickly came to the obvious conclusion: Northern soldiers were approaching and he wasn't supposed to be there.

"Shit," the redhead hissed. "Fuckin' _Northies_. Mello, help me." Bright Eyes kicked his boot into the small wooden chair, satisfied when it caved and broke off into splintered bits. He picked up a piece and kicked the remains towards the blonde.

"Don't call me that!" he hissed, mimicking the redhead to obtain a deterrent and preparing to hit whoever might be approaching.

Within seconds, four troops raced into the room and spanned out. One drew a short-barreled semi-automatic. One was holding a pretty little stiletto. One was sporting a pair of brass knuckles. The last one was unarmed, but he appeared and gave off the aura of a frontrunner.

The alleged frontrunner heaved, practically foaming at the mouth like a rabid mongrel. "Stop them! The redhead breached our Wing! He's trying to take our prisoner for himself!" He was barking orders and stating rather obvious facts. Other than that, he stayed back, as if afraid to get too involved.

Mello quickly charged towards the knife-wielding soldier, using the splintering wood from the broken chair to disarm him. Then he rammed his shoulder into the Northie's gut, effectively knocking him breathless before dropping and sweeping his leg in a wide one-eighty, knocking him to his back on the floor and kicking him in the side of the face with enough force to dislocate his jaw. Then he turned his attention to the trooper with brass knuckles, receiving a punch to the face for his determination.

Bright Eyes simply dropped the chair-piece and tackled the soldier with the gun, pinning him to the floor with his own body and slamming his elbow into the assailant's nose. Great sadistic pleasure came as he watched blood spurt forward and flow heavily from the now-broken appendage. He lifted himself and straddled the Northie's waist, wrapping his legs around the soldier's thighs and locking them in place with his ankles. He sat back with enough force and bulk to hear a sickening and satisfying snap as both of his femurs cracked under the weight. The screams of agony drowned out as Bright Eyes gripped the soldier's jaw and spanned his long fingers over the bony cheeks, plunging his thumbs into the eye sockets. He narrowed his eyes and pressed forward with fortitude.

Meanwhile, the blonde was relentless, meeting the knuckler fist-for-fist and dodging most blows, dancing around like a skilled acrobat. Any hits he did take were brutal, welting and bruising his skin instantly. "Fuckin' help me, pussyboy! What the hell? You bust my cover –and I'm supposed to do all this fightin' and shit by myself? Fuck you, bitchy redhead!" Mello was irritated, fighting a losing battle and getting himself shoved against a wall.

Bright Eyes ignored Mello's screams, too focused on ending the life of the flailing body beneath him. The screams registered though, and he suddenly felt that ending this soldier's life in this manner of gest (though highly entertaining to his warped mind) was taking too long. He flicked his wrist and snapped the other teen's neck before wiping blood and eye fluid on the collar of his cadaver's jumpsuit. Grabbing the very gun that had shot him, he tossed it to the blonde.

Mello simultaneously kneed his adversary in the groin, causing him to weaken and double over just in time to allow leeway for catching the proffered weapon. He stepped away from his assailant and aimed the gun at the forerunner, cracking off a single shot and watching with gratification while the other youth's face exploded under the force of the bullet.

And of course Bright Eyes was at the blonde's aid, stealing the attention of the brass-knuckled brawler by seizing him by the hair and catching him off guard. From then on, it was brass knuckles against steel-plated hands.

This was it. This was Bright Eyes' forte, and he'd be damned if he was going to lose this fight. His hands curled into harsh fists and went up around his face and chest, blocking any potentially fatal blows. His legs were tingling under the force of the adrenaline pumping through his veins, keeping him moving and dodging and blocking and all over taunting the soldier with the brass knuckles. He bared his teeth. Dodge, sidestep, cross, jab, elbow, uppercut, back! Skirt backwards, brace his legs, use momentum from the floor to power an uppercut, sway backwards, elbow, reverse spin kick, use the momentum and land a right hook.

It was hard to say how long had passed. Seconds? Minutes? Who knew? All the redhead discerned was that he had to keep moving. He had to be strong. He would not lose. He grit his teeth and went in for another hit… but this time, his fist did not hit its target. His opponent had managed a successful dodge before fisting him in the stomach.

Hidden behind mirrored lenses, a set of green eyes were wide with surprise, confusion, and pain. He felt the brass knuckles burrowing into his abdomen and was vaguely aware of the sensation that came with falling. Full realization didn't dawn on him until his back was inhospitably introduced to the floor and he was staring at a flickering light fixture.

Bright Eyes wasn't quite sure what had happened, but when he sat up, everything seemed so much quieter. The fight was presumably over, and the blue-eyed blonde stood victoriously, gun in one hand and a blood-spattered piece of chair in the other.

Mello turned his eyes to the redhead, looking at him with a thoughtful expression. "So, you were that one kid, huh? You were the one who helped me get off the Convoy?" He made a disbelieving noise under his breath and started walking towards the exit.

"Mello, wait!" Bright Eyes shouted, not sure why it was so important to keep the other's attention on him. "Don't go yet."

"Give me one good reason to stay. You blew my cover as a prisoner. You don't honestly think I could be caught by weaklings like that, do you? I needed to find out how much of a threat these guys were, so I showed up, posed a threat, and let them take me." He dropped the bloody wood and checked the clip of the gun before continuing to make his way out. "Don't follow, or I'll fuck you up, pussy."

Bright Eyes, unperturbed by the vulgar language, just ogled after him in awe. As soon as he realized that he'd been staring, he remembered that he was a soldier. He had a mission. And that mission did _not_ involve a daring blonde with a startling pair of blue eyes.

He got up, dusted himself off, grabbed his duffle, and spared a glance at the newly-deceased knuckler that now had a piece of chair lodged in his back. Then he followed after Mello, retrieving his P99 on his trip down the long corridor.

On his way out of the cellar, he heard the distinct sound of gunshots. He unfastened the safety and ran towards the sound. He barely registered the opponents facing him before he applied the compulsory pressure to the trigger. The kick-back jarred his shoulder, but the pain wasn't registered. The adrenaline kept him going, even though he was killing his own team. It was only when the gun ran out of ammunition and there was no one standing but him that he realized a sharp, searing pain shooting up and down his leg. Looking down, he blinked at the sight of blood seeping through the ugly blue fabric.

The gunshot wound to his shoulder had been received during his previous fight; he had no idea how his leg came to be hurt, but there wasn't much he could do now. He dropped with a curse and a grunt and pulled his leg to his side, wearily inspecting his injuries and judging the best way to remove the bullet.

Whatever had been going on, the excitement had died down. Mello unexpectedly appeared at his side. "You're hurt," he murmured, assessing the damage. "Idiot. What are you even doing here?" The question was probably rhetorical.

Bright Eyes answered anyways. "Serving God."

…

Mello assisted Bright Eyes back to the East and to the inner sanctum. The trip was uneventful, save for the occasional banter of who helped who, and how many Northies were disposed of.

They entered with the redhead leaning heavily against the other, wanting so badly to support himself to prove his own vitality. "You didn't have to help me; I'm not weak," the redhead defended himself the moment he was seated on a cement bench.

The blonde avoided eye contact, focusing his attention on tending to the soldier's wounds. He worked in silence. Then, when finished, he seated himself at a bench opposite of the redhead. "I never called you weak. I called you a pussy."

"Same thing."

"No. Weak people fall down and don't get up. Pussies just get fucked over and over, regardless to what protection they have. And you're seriously fucked if you think that this mindless fighting is a means of _serving God_." Mello's words were harsh, but he needed them to be.

Bright Eyes hesitantly removed the gloves he was wearing; he glanced at his scarred palms with mixed emotions –emotions that he wasn't supposed to have. Remembering this, he busied himself, digging through his duffle and retrieving two chocolate bars and a bottle of water. "Kira is God, and this is what he wants," he said absentmindedly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. . His voice was far away and blank, as though he were running on autopilot. He offered the water and chocolate to the blonde.

Mello snatched up the cocoa-infested treat but declined the beverage. He tore through the wrapper and took an angry bite. "I serve God too, y'know," he said with a mouth full of candy. "But my God is a merciful one. You can't see or touch Him, but you know He's there." With the words, the blonde lifted his hand absently to his chest, then dropped it again.

"Kira is…-"

"My God is one day going to take Kira's life. Under that pretense, your own faulty logic would dictate my God to be stronger than yours. Am I correct?"

The redhead fell silent, struggling to grasp the concept of a life without his God. He needed to gather his thoughts; he needed to find a retort, though he was well aware that belated cleverness was hardly cleverness at all. And yet, his mind worked to satisfy itself. After what felt like a small eternity, he resigned his quest for crafty words. He stayed silent, though he hated admitting defeat to the blonde.

Just then, the door opened and in staggered a blood-soaked teen… with a rather familiar purple helmet and stuffed penguin. The toy was dropped and the helmet was slowly unstrapped and pulled off.

"Dizzy, glad you could make it," Bright Eyes said listlessly.

Mello simply looked at the wide-eyed soldier. "You okay, kid?"

Dizzy said nothing, stepping on his penguin on his way to the storage closet. He set the helmet on a shelf inside and proceeded to strip off his sullied coat, boots and garb. Beneath his clothing, skin was marred in ugly scars, hundreds of them. Some were thick and angry; others were deep and discolored. He pulled on a fresh jumpsuit, grabbed a notebook from a bin in the closet, and sat on the floor with his back to the wall.

"What's up, Dizzy?" Bright Eyes tried again, feeling an odd and unfamiliar pang in his chest.

The blonde frowned at the bloody mess that had been left, as well as the discarded stuffed animal that had surely meant something to the boy. "You dropped something," he said, referring to the black and white flightless bird matter-of-factly. His tone was the same one he might have used if he were to say something along the lines of what temperature a weatherman predicted a few days ahead.

The redhead face-palmed. "Ah, shit, Dizzy. I was supposed to find Virus and meet you at the Center, wasn't I?"

"And I wasn't supposed to go North or South," Dizzy said bitterly, beginning to flip through the notebook, judiciously regarding each page.

Bright Eyes blinked at the tone of voice that emitted from the teen's mouth, having never heard his voice carry anything other than a joyful tone. The voice now was angry and spiteful.

Mello glared sharply at the redhead. "You left a kid alone out there?" He shook his head disapprovingly as he got up and approached Dizzy. "Hey, kid. You okay?"

Dizzy looked at him uncertainly, pulling the notebook close, as if to hide it.

"Relax, I'm not a soldier or anything," his tone was surprisingly soft and didn't match the permanent scowl he wore.

Dizzy seemed to relax a bit before setting the notebook aside and slumping forward, appearing lethargic. "I found Virus' chair, but not him. Virus can't walk. He needs his chair. Virus needs it. He can't be a plane or a car. He can't ride a horse or make good choo-choo noises. How can Virus go anywhere without his chair? Virus always said that one day, he wanted to leave. One day, he'd go, and I would go with him. But… he can't go. His chair is still here, in The Crater, but he's not in it."

Mello ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He placed a hand on Dizzy's. "I'm sure he's alright. I'll find him."

Dizzy said nothing, swatting Mello's hand away and reclaiming the notebook.

Blue eyes turned on Bright Eyes, narrowing angrily. "What's your deal? You show up, bust me out, show the tiniest bit of humanity, fight like a fuckin' war-hound, and now you are being a heartless bastard? Y'know what? I actually believe you were one of those pricks from the Convoy, but I don't believe you're the one who helped me get out away from it. _That_ kid wasn't strong, but he was _human_. He understood the value of a human life."

"I value my own life," said Bright Eyes, forcing back a wince at the other's words and straightening his back defensively. "I value strength."

"Virus was strong," said Dizzy. "And smart. He was different than everyone else. He was allowed to go home, but he didn't."

Mello was exasperated; he shook his head and looked towards the exit. "I need to get going. I'm wasting my time here. If I wait too long, I'll miss my ride out of here." He paused before turning to Dizzy and dropping to his knees before the child. "Do you want to come with me? If so, this may be your only chance. Come with me, and you won't have to fight –not unless you want to. And if you do want to, then the side we'll be on will be fighting to protect those who can't protect themselves. We'll be fighting to put an end to all the suffering that has been brought on by Kira's reign."

"Kira's leadership is divine!" Bright Eyes knew this to be fact. The scars in his hands told him that much.

"Kira's a joke!" Mello snapped. "He takes kids away from happy homes! He squanders their big dreams and wild imaginations! He forces them to endure an insufferable hell, and then they turn into people like _you_! You were human once, don't you remember? Don't you remember a mom and dad? Don't you remember going to school, striving to succeed in a way that _didn't_ involve bloodshed?"

Bright Eyes couldn't form a proper sentence to respond. He didn't remember any of that. At all. He furrowed his brows and tried to recall a time when things might have been so simple, but that only brought him a pounding headache. "I… I can't remember," he murmured, letting his head fall into his hands and shaking his head slowly as he desperately tried to recollect a past that wasn't stained in red.

Mello sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, irritated. "I knew you when you were a good kid. Did you really let those dickheads at the Convoy beat that person to death? I liked that kid. You, on the other hand, can curl up and die for all I care. Burn in hell. Rot, right next to your false God." With that, he stepped out, feeling embittered and maybe lonely.

Bright Eyes turned his eyes upwards, tearing the goggles down to rest around his neck, wanting to get a clear view of that blonde bombshell walking away from him. There was something dreadful about simply watching. Had he not been in pain at the moment, he could have acted on impulse. But, what would he have done if he had? Chased after him? Tackled him? Put a bullet in him to keep him around a little longer? No, he wasn't that sick and vindictive… was he?

When Mello was out of sight, green eyes settled on Dizzy, whom was rocking back and forth and clutching the notebook like his life depended on it. "You, uh… gonna be alright?" He wasn't good at comforting others. To his knowledge, he'd never needed to. When the _special_ soldier didn't respond, he tried another tactic. (Because, really, life was naught but a battlefield, and ever action could be crucial. Sometimes, the smallest gestures made the biggest differences.) "So, Dizzy, why did you take off your helmet? It seemed rather important to you."

Dizzy shrugged but kept his focus on anything and everything that wasn't the redhead. And after several seconds of silence, he answered. "Had to take it off. Put it on the shelf. Proof that Virus and I were friends. Comrades. Family."

"Elaborate, soldier," Bright Eyes commanded, his voice coming out more stern than he'd intended.

Even so, Dizzy obliged, though his voice was soft and quiet, as if he was afraid to speak up. "On the shelf. On there. That shelf. That very one…" he pointed for a fraction of a second, wanting to indicate the exact location. "That's where Virus put mementos of all his friends." He paused, getting up and approaching the shelf. "Bucky's tooth. He was the only one who still had a few of his baby teeth. Virus had joked about it. It fell out, and it's been here ever since. And Serotonin's sketch book. She used to draw poorly illustrated comics about Virus; she gave him a cape and said that he was the secret to saving everyone. And Demo's lucky coin. He said that his mum gave it to him as a good luck charm. He never went anywhere without it. But he died. Beat to death by Northies. And…- " And Dizzy continued to name off countless items on said shelf, all of which had a brief story behind them of someone who had thought the world of the green-haired cripple.

"So, Virus had friends?" Bright Eyes asked casually, trying to warm up to the idea of conversing about something other than the Great War and the training that would lead to it.

"Virus had a lot of friends."

The redhead looked thoughtful. "Earlier, you mentioned something about Virus being allowed to go home, but he didn't. What's with that?"

Dizzy's jaw tightened; his mouth became a thin line, as if unsure he wanted to answer. In the end, he did. "If a soldier survives The Crater, he is discharged at the age of 18. Virus claims to be 17, and he has been claiming this… for nearly 6 years."

"If Virus wants to leave so badly, then why doesn't he just tell the truth about his age and get discharged? He's gotta be about 23, right?"

Dizzy looked depressed; he found the notebook and slowly began to pace the small confides the sanctum had to offer. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn't need to.

"Virus hates it here. He hates violence. But if there's one thing he hates more… it's leaving people behind. Virus has no _real_ intentions on leaving The Crater. He is strong. He is relentless. And he cares a little too much. He lost his legs protecting me from a Southern trooper about a year ago." The voice was familiar enough; it was a strong female voice. (PennyBandit? When had she arrived anyways?)

"Penny," said Dizzy with a small smile. His first smile in a while.

"Don't worry, Dizzers. I turn 18 soon. I'll take you with me when I leave." PennyBandit stood tall and proud. Her jumper did nothing to the curves beneath, but she was still every bit female. Her cheekbones had a natural accent and her lips were pouty. Her face was rounded and her hair fell in lanky ribbons. "Bright Eyes, I'm going to let you in on a secret." As she spoke, she approached Dizzy and pulled him into a forceful hug, pressing his head into her modest bosom. She laid her cheek against his bloodied hair. Her eyes were trained on the redhead as she continued. "This is not just a _war-zone_. And we are not just _soldiers_. This place, until we come of age, is also our _home_. And… we're all one another has –we're _family_. Remember that." With that, she released the other soldier and was pleased to see him smiling, even though his eyes had begun to release liquid sentiment.

"Thanks, Penny," he said quietly.

PennyBandit nodded in response and walked over to the storage closet, grabbing the purple helmet from the shelf. She carried it over to Dizzy and placed it on his head. Her fingers worked at the strap. "No need to leave this here. Don't put it on the Memorial shelf. Virus is out there. Alive. I know it. We just have to find him."

Bright Eyes had watched this scene unfold, and his insides were burning. His head felt fuzzy and a vision fogged his mind. He felt his back hit the wall and he closed his eyes as a near silent groan slipped past his lips.

…

"_Mail, come and find me! What's the matter, Mail? You can find me, I know it! Look!" A little girl with bright eyes and pigtails crawled out from under a blanket. Her smile was bright; she was missing a tooth. Certain sounds she made allowed a whistle through the gap._

"_Linda? You were hiding so good! How was I supposed to find you?" A redheaded boy with messy hair and over-sized hand-me-down clothes practically tackled the girl with a hug. His face flooded with red and the two shared a laugh. _

"_We'll always be friends, right Mail?"_

"_Yeah, we will. But don't forget… It's your turn to find me!" With yet another laugh, he scrambled to get off her, tripping over his own two feet as he raced to find himself a good hiding spot. The last thing he yelled back to the girl was: "Start counting, Linda! Then you can come find me!" _

…

Bright Eyes awoke with in cold sweat. He hadn't a clue when he'd decided to nap, or even if his state of unconsciousness had been voluntary. Had it been a product of stress, lack of sleep, and the strain from his injuries? Did he take a few pills to numb the physical and emotional anxiety that licked his soul?

For whatever reason, he'd fallen asleep and had the most confusing dream. About a girl. And a boy. He didn't know either of them; they were just rotten little kids, right? Rotten, but happy. For an instant, he almost felt jealous of the people in his illusion, but he pushed the very idea aside and forced himself stoic. A good soldier didn't need any of that on his mind. A good soldier –_wait_!

He looked around, eyes scanning the room that was beginning to feel less like a cemented wasteland and more like an oasis of sorts. If memory served correctly, (but then again, could Bright Eyes trust his own memory?) Dizzy and PennyBandit was with him recently, but… now they were nowhere in sight.

He got to his feet, wincing at the sting in his leg and the ache in his shoulder. He grabbed for his duffle; he took it everywhere, it seemed. It was reliable, unlike people. People just got in the way. People just –_no_. He'd already slaughtered enough of his team while on the run with Mello. It had been unintentional and disastrous, but he couldn't' help himself. There had been so many troops, and his instincts told him not to stop until he was the victor.

He would win. It was a game. Strategy was the key to survival. Survival was the ultimate goal. He had many adversaries, and his allies were… gone. (_Game Over. Player One: Continue_?) The ones he hadn't shot down had left him. And he'd never even completed his mission to find and retrieve Virus. Then again, he wasn't finished quite yet.

He fished through his duffle for the bottle of pills he'd become well acquainted with. He took two and made a mental note that the pill container was just about empty. He put the container away and hauled his bag onto his weak shoulder before once again checking the inventory of the Eastern Wing.

He lined the pockets of his jumper with another knife, an additional gun and ammunition, and then he pulled the orange lenses back over his eyes; the color was comforting, though he couldn't be sure why.

In terms of comfort, he conjured those children from his dream; a smile tugged at his mouth, but he willed it away. Stupid kids didn't need to be in his way. He didn't know them, so… why did he feel so jubilant when he saw them? More importantly, why was he feeling at all? Soldiers had no need for feelings. Feelings are what made people weak, and –_ouch_. He really needed to stop the negativity and get to work. He had a mission. He had troops to find.

He adjusted his duffle, stifling a curse as the strap rubbed his injured shoulder. And then he was off, pushing the heavy door open and strutting out.

It took only a second for an offensive scent to be registered. Blood. Death. That odor immediately brought him back to his time on the Convoy.

…

_Training had been hell. Bright Eyes was gradually becoming used to the feeling of bones snapping under his touch; he no longer cringed at the sight of blood being sprayed from the mouth of someone who'd been beaten to near-death. He held no qualms with cornering a fellow trainee and putting the fear of God into his or her eyes. _

_The Lieutenant and his fellow Operatives had rewarded him for his savage behavior, and he was beginning to associate the thrill of the kill with a positive notion._

_With teens being slaughtered in favor of gathering tags and collecting points, the over-crowded cells became less full and rations were given in larger portions… but that wasn't the reason Bright Eyes had broken the arm and bloodied the nose of a cellmate. He didn't care much for food; it was barely edible anyways. And the excess space in the cell, while welcomed, did nothing for the chill that settled over them at night. (One of the soldiers-in-training thought he'd be clever and kill his cellmates –all of them –with the intent of having the cell to himself… There was a hailstorm; the cold had been amplified by the mists of water from the sea, and the dumbass froze to death.) _

_No, Bright Eyes was smart. He brutally bashed faces in with his bare hands –hands with degenerating bones that were newly lined with steel plates. He did as much damage as possible before allowing someone to drop dead. Then he made it a personal preference to dump his own bodies overboard. It made it easier to keep count of how many lives he'd taken. But he'd taken so many lives; it didn't matter after a while. He stopped counting; stopped bothering to clean up his bloody messes. A corpse became as commonplace as furniture._

_Bright Eyes was in the brawl, purely for the tags and points. The more points he had, the more medical supplies he could get; he could also trade them for upgraded weapons; warmer clothes; and things of the like._

_And of course, tags could be traded for more points. _

_Points were good. Points were wealth, and with wealth came a highly respectable status._

_Bright Eyes worked his way to the top, grinning like a madman every time he caught word of new teens being Initiated; they'd be boarding the Convoy soon, and fresh blood and frightened faces were exciting. Because this green-eyed mercenary was a PK. He'd slaughter the new teens before they could even think to get a taste of what he'd become addicted to. Because, really, the flavor of victory was something to marvel at; he savored it like a dieting woman sneaking a trip to McDonald's._

_He had himself a large pile of tags and more points than he could spend. And he kept at it… because more tags and points for him meant less for his opponents. He would not allow them an advantage if he could avoid it._

_What had started as a Convoy with more than a hundred teens had been reduced to twenty or so, and that's counting the fresh new teens that arrived every two weeks._

_In time, Bright Eyes became an animal. He was a fox, and everyone else was a sheep. Ripe for the picking. He skulked around corners and waited patiently for an opening to claw the eyes out of anyone and everyone who was not a superior staff member. He was a lethal beast with an appetite for flesh and gore. And he loved it._

_How could he not? As famed author Oscar Wilde once wrote: 'Anything becomes a pleasure if one does it too often.'_

_And too often he did it. He got a sort of high from watching light fade from eyes. Green, blue, hazel, grey- any color, really._

_The stench of death and the expression of petrified fear on the chilling faces of the corpses were things that became imprinted in the mind. Things that could never be forgotten. The sights and sounds of the intense trade of blows and screeches were… indescribable._

…

Yes, Bright Eyes was sorely reminded of the sheer number of lives he'd taken. In only a year, he'd killed hundreds and betrayed twice as many. But his stay on the Convoy was over. He needed to focus on the here and now. He needed to focus on the number of corpses that littered the foregrounds of the Eastern Wing.

His own comrades. Even if he'd yet to formally greet his fellow troops, he still felt angered at their deaths. He never was much for solidarity or fellowship and whatnot, but his adrenaline hobnailed at the realization that he'd kipped through what appeared to be a small massacre.

He stepped over bodies, fleetingly acknowledging the wide-eyed looks of terror that came with parted lips, as if screaming for help from soldiers with deaf ears.

Eastern soldiers. Everywhere. A pitiful sight that Bright Eyes could not fathom compassion for.

Upon inspection, he noted a few Westies, two of which had shadowed PennyBandit earlier. Their bodies lay several feet apart, drenched in blood –arms extending towards one another for support that would never be granted. One of the Westie boys were literally sawed in half, his lower half pulled away from his torso and his insides spilling out to feed the growing number of insects.

It was odd. In some quaint places reminiscent of a fairytale, one might see flowers layering the green fields, but in a place like The Crater, a macabre setting is brought to life at the sight of fallen teenagers, all stripped of normalcy and put on a path that would lead them to their own foolish demise on the snowy grounds of an extensive battlement.

Bright Eyes finally crossed the threshold and exited the Eastern Wing. If Western soldiers were in the mix of the solitary destruction that befell the territory of the East, then there was the possibility that West might have met the same or similar fate. If that was the case, then he'd need a plan of evasion for Northies and Southern troopers.

He trekked through the slosh that had begun to liquefy; the temperature was increasing and the snow was becoming water atop a thawing ground. He passed the Centers and was apprehensive on finding more bodies decorating the dregs along the way. He found himself subconsciously looking for PennyBandit's long hair and feminine physique; he looked for that purple helmet that Dizzy usually sported; he even looked for the nonconforming clothes that Virus had last been seen in.

He reached the Western Wing in what he supposed would have been record time, had he not been checking for signs of his comrades. And even in the West, troops were much too few and far between. The few that were standing were dragging fallen Westies to the back, presumably to an incinerator to be burned.

He forced himself calm and approached a trooper –though this soldier was a female, it was not PennyBandit. "Bright Eyes of the Eastern Wing. New recruit. Status report, soldier," he took command, making direct eye contact and being as authoritative as possible.

The Westie cradled a masculine body in one arm and gave a half-salute before complying. "Misora Massacre of the Western Wing. Standby, soldier. Man down. Troops limited. Our Commanding Officer has arranged…-" she never got to finish her sentence. A gunshot rang out and she fell, her body landing atop the male she'd been dragging.

Bright Eyes had grown weary, but he was now quite alert and slinking back, trying for cover. From the safety of the shadows, he watched more Westies fall prey to an unseen enemy.

When there were no more Westies left standing, a rather tall man came into view, a rifle in his grasp. "These idiots never know when to stop interfering. I give them one simple task, and they can't even manage that."

From a safe distance, the redheaded Eastern soldier scrutinized the man; he narrowed his eyes and adjusted his goggles before fishing out a pre-loaded MK 23. He was ready to end this man's life.

Just then a blonde woman with narrow eyes and broad shoulders jogged over to the dark-haired man with the rifle. "Nice shooting, Gevanni. Only a few troops left; they're hiding well. But we've got their Tactician –they won't make it out alive." As she spoke, her voice was dead but her eyes were like that of a serpent's. "Soldiers from the Southern Wing are thriving, as it should be."

"Quiet, Halle. The walls have ears, if you catch my drift. Don't need anyone figuring things out." Gevanni was talking.

Bright Eyes listened in as much as possible, but he was only catching fragments of the conversation. Much to his dismay, the two Southern troopers turned and began to walk away, seemingly satisfied with the damage that had been done.

Bright Eyes took aim and focused on the man's back, ready to shoot. But something –some feeling in his gut... it burned and told him not to pull the trigger. Lowering the gun, he tried to logically justify the reasons for not shooting... _Information_? Yes, this man and woman could be used for getting information about what the fuck was going on.

When they were long gone, the redhead put his gun away and set to work, coming out of his place in the shadows and grasping hold of the nearest body. He dragged the body to the incinerator, pulled open the iron grate, and proceeded to impel the deceased soldier inside the stirring infernos before closing the grate. The stench of burning hair and flesh killed through his senses, and he shut his eyes tightly, waiting for the body to disintegrate. No matter how many people he killed, nor how many bodies he burned, that smell still made him retch.

Soon enough, all that remained was a pile of ash amongst the burning embers. Realizing this, Bright Eyes went to fetch another body; the process repeated until every corpse between the West and East had been removed from the foregrounds.

He pulled the goggles up onto his head, falling to his knees and pressing his palms to his eyes. "Dizzy… PennyBandit… Virus…" he chanted their names with a broken voice. Not because he was sad for the turn of events, nor because he worried for the safety of his comrades, but because he had failed. Completely. There was no excuse for this. His unconsciousness had cost the lives of countless soldiers that he could have saved, helped to victory over the Southern troops.

He'd failed. Lost the game. Become useless. Had he been on the Convoy with such a botched endeavor, he wouldn't have been shown mercy. The only reason there was mercy granted on him now is because he was the only living human... _No_. Mello was right. He _wasn't_ human anymore, but… to serve God, he would make that sacrifice.

He found himself shaking and shuddering. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, and stressed to the point of being nauseous. This had been too much. All the training on the Convoy had done nothing to prepare him for the emotions he was fighting off.

Fear. Rage. Excitement. It was so hard to distinguish the difference between them. He needed combat. He needed the thrill of the fight. He needed -_craved_- the adrenaline rush that came with fighting and killing. That adrenaline made him forget; made him blank. It was all about the survival and emotion didn't get in the way. He needed a challenge that would allow him to completely obliterate and destroy. But, at the moment, he'd lost.

His body was racked with tremors, and it wasn't until he reluctantly removed his hands from his eyes that he realized he was crying. He looked at his palms, looking for the guidance that had surely been implanted there, there, somehow. The cross-shaped scars made sense. They helped; they showed him what he was supposed to do.

Where were all the answers that had been so easy to find before now? Where were the comforting words of Kira and the excuses that came with being a soldier? Until now, what he knew of life was scripted for him. Now he was reading from a blank page, and it scared him.

He needed some form of order. Or he'd surely die.

His stomach growled, and all he could do was curl inward, and continue to cry. Was he really hungry? Did he deserve to eat? Had he earned himself the right to live?

All these thoughts and more had plagued him. They haunted him until his cries became hysterical sobs and his mind stopped thinking altogether.

He lay on the ground. It was cold and wet but that didn't register in his mind. His eyes were empty pools of acidic green, staring off into the distance but not really seeing anything. His vision blackened before coming back as a dulled version of what it should have been. It was fuzzy around the edges and drifting in and out of focus. He had to be dreaming. Or something.

…

_There was that boy again. The scrawny redhead whose clothes were just a few sizes too big. He smiled brightly and hugged a lovely woman, possibly his mother. She said something, or did she? Her mouth moved, but no sound emerged. What was she saying?_

_Suddenly, the words became audible. "Mail, you're the best son anyone could ask for. You got an A on that report, didn't you?"_

_The boy smiled and proudly held up a piece of paper. "Nope, but I got a B. And a B is just as good as an A. Because it shows how smart I am, but it doesn't make me look like a nerd."_

_Just then, a little girl ran over. It was Linda, the girl with the pigtails. Her tooth had grown in; her smile was serene. "Oh, Mail, you'll always look like a nerd. Lucky for you, I like nerds." She giggled in that odd way little girls do. She twirled a piece of her hair and swayed her narrow hips in an innocent gest._

_Mail simply shrugged, but his smile was ever-present. "I don't need good grades for what I want to do when I grow up. And it's not a nerdy thing either! When I grow up, I want to be a racecar driver! I'll go so fast, just wait! And I'll have the coolest car. Yeah. So cool! Girls will go crazy, but I won't date them; they're icky."_

"_Hey!" Linda looked offended. She turned away and pouted, crossing her arms and trying to look angry._

_Mail's eyes widened. "No, Linda! You're cool. You're not like other girls. You're my friend! You're cool. In fact, one day, we'll get married and have puppies!"_

"_You mean babies, right? I don't like puppies."_

"_I don't like babies. I like puppies."_

"_In that case, Mail… don't marry me. Just be my friend."_

"_Uh… 'kay, Linda."_

"_Oh, and Mail…-"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_I don't really think you're a nerd. You're cool too. I just… wanted you to know that."_

…

When the fog cleared, Bright Eyes had stopped crying, though he could feel the tearstains on his cheeks. His body was freezing, even though the snow was almost completely gone by now. He sat up and looked around. Blood painted much of his surroundings, reminding him of recent events.

He got to his feet and reached for his duffle, surprised when it wasn't slung over his shoulder, nor was it beside him.

A rustling sound reached his ears, and he jerked to see what it was.

Mello was sitting a good few yards away, reliable duffle in hand with its contents falling to the ground. He looked up, blue eyes meeting bloodshot green. "No more chocolate?" he asked in a small voice.

Bright Eyes shook his head. "No. No more chocolate." He gestured to the bloody battlefield and lowered his head. "No more comrades either."

There was a long pause before the blonde spoke. "Don't give up."

"Come again?"

Mello stood, dropping the duffle and sneering angrily. "Don't give up. Never surrender. It's going to be o-_fuckn'_-kay, pussyboy." If his words were supposed to be a pep talk of some sort, it needed work.

Bright Eyes made a vague noise of agreement. He didn't know how to respond, nor did he really care to retort. He was too drained mentally.

Mello scoffed at the redhead's current behavior before turning on heel and walking away. As he graduated an exit, he called back to the Eastern soldier: "I found Virus. I have an idea where your friends are. Help is coming. Now, let's go."

…

* * *

**/Questions? Comments? Concerns? Yes, Naomi Misora died. The dead man she was dragging was, indeed, Raye Penber. Gevanni and Halle have entered, and we'll find out what their deal is soon. Mello has returned, and he's going to help Bright Eyes! Oh, and Bright Eyes is slowly going to get his memories back! Cool, huh? Now… Review!/**


	5. Catching Fire

**Title:** Cinders in The Crater

**Summary:** Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DN. The plot and OCs are mine. Anything referenced is either owned by someone more respectable than I, or is purely a coincidence. That is all, thankyou.

**Thank My Beta: **THANK CATATONIC VANITY!

**Author's Note:** There's a surprise scene in here that is suggest and written up by CV! It's a wonderful little tidbit in which Bright Eyes temporarily assaults Mello! So, I hope you like it, because I sure as hell did! Also by CatatonicVanity is the ending. Everything after Mello starts talkin' to Dizzy towards the end and when the CO of the East shows up. That's all hers. I just went in and edited it to my liking. So… yeah, thank her! Also, I have to fully credit her for bringing her mad creative skillz into action in writing up the CO. –so, yeah, thank her beacoup!

**Mine: **The Crater is mine. Dizzy, Virus, PennyBandit, Westie boys, Bucky, Serotonin, and Demo are all mine too. (So far, that's it.)

…

* * *

**Chapter Four: **Catching Fire

And so it went. Bright Eyes and Mello advanced to the Centers at a leisurely pace. Along the way, the blonde seemed less irritable than usual. His tone was less bitter and he occasionally slowed down to make certain that his redheaded companion was keeping up with him, busted leg and all.

"Now, what can you tell me about Virus of the Eastern Wing?" Bright Eyes was uncomfortable with the familiarity that Mello had been expressing; it didn't sit well with his indoctrinated mind, thus his speech and train of thought was gradually regressing into something more decorous.

If the blonde noticed the redhead's ineptitude, he didn't show it. "Just to be clear, Virus is the green-haired guy with the leg trouble?"

"He's weak. He's a cripple." Ever so blunt was the redhead.

"We're talking about the Tactician, right?" Mello's attempt to lessen he harshness of words.

"The cripple." More bluntness.

"Second in Command of the East?" The blonde tried again. "I've talked to him. He's more than just a run-of-the-mill solider."

"Yeah, he's a cripple. Without his chair. He's about as valuable as an uprooted tree stump."

Mello rolled his eyes at the one-track mind of the other. "At any rate, when I departed earlier and ran to the pier with the intent to catch my ride out of this dump, I was informed that the plans had changed."

"What plans?" By now the duo was approaching the Center. They pulled open the wooden door, meeting no resistance since the latchkey appeared to have been broken some time ago.

The blonde held back a twitch at the other's obliviousness. "The plans that brought me here. L's plans."

"L?"

Mello smirked at the other. "_L_… is Kira's opponent in the so-called Great War."

"And, you're really opposing God?"

"Only your God. Now quit badgering and listen to me." He paused long enough to make sure that the other wasn't going to retort. "L… is a great man. Like you and I, he was drafted and put through the Initiation and Mutilation. But he was smart. After his first few days of the Convoy, he was able to jump ship and get away, leaving his twin behind. His twin was supposed to work on destroying The Crater from the inside while L worked on taking it down from the outside. L became recluse but took in escapees. He trained them himself to fight this oncoming War."

"Why?"

"Because… mindless violence… is wrong. Man thinking that _God_ is an achievable title… is wrong. And L believes that there will come a day when teens are not forced into a life of carnage and mayhem. L believes that there will come a day when teens _leave_ and actually _come home_ to a welcoming family." As he concluded, his face contorted with various emotions, all of which were quite visible but hard to distinguish.

No further words were exchanged as they raided the Supply Center. Boxes, crates, shelves, and bins were everywhere, all of which were occupied by a multitude of provisions –everything from fresh produce to pain killers; from bullets to small cordite explosives; from bandages to durable footwear.

Together, they loaded the Eastern Soldier's duffle with ammunition, pre-loaded firearms, and first aid. Bright Eyes was quick to snatch a few quaint little pill containers, palpably educing that his own meds were in short quantity. Mello simply swapped his own garb with a blue jumpsuit that had been folded neatly in a box near the back of the Center.

"That jumper doesn't suit you," said Bright Eyes, approaching a table and examining the presented nutrition. He stole a stock of celery, leaned heavily against a counter, and bit into the vegetable. He quickly devoured the green-leafed pipe and then snatched a pear from a fruit bowl.

Watching the redhead nourish himself necessarily, the blonde shrugged, zipping up the jumper and lining his pockets with anything that might prove useful during combat. "And those goggles don't suit you. So we'll call it even."

Bright Eyes suddenly felt self-conscious. He wasn't sure why, but he was wary of his appearance. He silently wondered how long, shaggy, and tangled his hair might be. He wondered if he should trade his current apparel for a jumper with a little less blood. His boots were wet and muddy. His hands were… hideous, each marred by a cross-shaped scar in the palm and an endoskeleton of metal. He looked around, needing his focus to be on anything but the blonde. His chest felt strangely tight and his head was swimming. He carefully removed the goggles and pocketed them.

Mello stared at him, mildly curious of the new behavior. "Look, Bright Eyes, I can tell you're not cut out for this sort of life. Kira or no Kira, wouldn't you rather be away from this War? Wouldn't you rather be hanging out with friends, getting a girlfriend, and thinking about a better future?"

The redhead shrugged. "I don't know what I want," he said, moving away from the counter and tersely discarding the uneaten fruit. "But Kira's word is law. Kira is God. Kira wants me to bring victory for myself and my comrades. Kira wants…-"

"Kira wants an army at his disposal. And the key word here is _disposal_. He doesn't care about you." Mello snapped needlessly, fiddling with the zipper on his new blue threads and walking towards the exit. "Do you still want to know about Virus, or not?"

"My current mission… is to find him and bring him back to the Eastern Wing. Unharmed."

"Then stop trying to piss me off and just listen; I can help, but you need to stop being a sniveling pussy for two damn seconds!" Mello was exasperated as he ran a hand through his hair. "Virus is heavily guarded in the Southern Wing, but of course, that should come as no surprise. What you need to be cautious of is…-" He didn't get a chance to finish what he was saying; the redhead had ignored him after hearing that Virus could be found in the South; apparently, he decided to man-up and take leave, his heavy duffle in tow. Mello followed after him, scowling. "I'm trying to help you, dammit! The least you can do is stand still long enough for me to get a word in!"

"You've gotten several words in. I don't care about L. I don't care about your God. And I don't care about how you regard Virus. I just want to complete my current mission and serve Kira; that's all I've ever known, so that's all I really want."

Mello opened his mouth to question Bright Eyes, but before he could properly form a sentence, a gunshot rang out and a sharp sting met his right calve. "F-Fuuuck!" He cursed, sidestepping and slumping against the entrance to the Centers; he drew a gun and aimed at oncoming assailants.

There were two of them. A man with dark hair and a slim build and a woman with blonde hair and a broad physique.

The woman was holding a delightful little Nighthawk, in which she slid a fresh clip. "Gevanni, it's the intruder! The one that was held captive by the Northies! Let's take him out!"

Gevanni was holding a rifle and seemed unwilling to call forth effort to use it; he simply stood back, adjusted his hold on the rifle and derived a set of throwing knives. "I'm on it, Halle! Don't get yourself hurt."

"Bright Eyes, get your ass over here!" Mello shouted, taking aim, knowing that he could be riddled with holes at any given moment. A knife found his foot, and though it hurt like fuckin' hell, he was more focused on his anger than his pain. "Bright Eyes? This is where you step in and do that violent shit you do!"

Another gunshot screamed against the effect of shock. A garish _bang_! The sound was deafening.

Mello felt his finger on the trigger and vaguely wondered if he'd been the one who fired, but this was not the case; he hadn't shot anyone in this instance. And he didn't feel pain, meaning that he wasn't the one whose flesh had been pierced. His gaze travelled over to his right, and sure enough, there was Bright Eyes, on the ground.

The redhead's right hand was compressed over his shoulder, blood weeping through his fingers; his left hand was pulling harshly at his own hair. A series of pathetic whimpers escaped his mouth.

This was not normal for the soldier. This was all wrong. Where was that haughty and uncaring disposition? Where was the tact and vigor that once shrouded the entirety of the redhead?

Seeing the physical state that Bright Eyes was in, Mello's rage intensified. "You fuckin' shot him? Look at him! Can't you see that something is fuckin' wrong? And even if he was perfectly fine, what gives you the grounds to hurt him? That pussy is mine!" He snarled and sneered, pushing himself away from the building and pressing the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times. Three shots in rapid succession.

Blood exploded from Gevanni's hand and the throwing knives fell from his grasp and he began to backpedal with the purpose of retreating.

Mello aimed at Halle; the two blondes wore identical expressions; each brandished a loaded gun and the incentive of an injured companion. Their eyes met in a deadly staring contest, both silently wondering who would be the first to pull the trigger; both daring the other to get it over with when they should have been taking the initiative.

Mello wanted to pull the trigger, but that was too expected of him. Right now, he wanted to be less predictable; it would give him a slight edge over the other, but only if he was careful and acted fast. So, he made a show of lowering his gun a fraction to glance at the redhead –embellishing his concern for the Eastern soldier in hopes of buying time to calculate his movements; then he returned his attention back to Halle and fixed his aim; in the meantime, he fished his free hand into a pocket and produced a cordite –a dandy little explosive that had a sensitive fuse and did not require a flame to be ignited. Halle's attention was everywhere between Mello's eyes and gun, but nowhere near the incendiary. In half a second, the wire was struck and the modest explosive was alive; Mello tossed it between himself and Halle before dropping his own gun and pouncing on the redhead, acting as a shield.

The explosive went off and the woman wailed in anguish, cowering back and covering her face in a vain attempt to hide from the scorching burns that crawled across her skin.

…

_There she was again. Linda. Here hair was a bit longer, her eyes a bit wider with lightly powdered lids. She was wearing makeup, it seemed. Her lips were too bright, but the display flattered her round cheeks and brightened her smile. She was beautiful in every sense, from the way she flipped her hair flirtatiously to the way she leaned over a redheaded schoolboy's desk._

"_Mail, you have to come over to my house tonight," she said. "I'm having a party!"_

_The redhead waved her off, as if the invitation meant nothing, though the tinge of pink in his cheeks suggested otherwise. "It's not your birthday, and you're not popular enough to throw a shindig."_

_The girl huffed, feigning annoyance; the twinkle in her eyes allowed a glimpse of her adoration for the boy before her. "Don't be silly! First of all, no one uses the word 'shindig.' Second, I know, okay? But today is special… Today is…-"_

_Just then, an old man walked in. "Class, settle down. Today is a very special day. Do you know why?"_

_Linda took her seat and quickly raised her hand, butt lifting from the seat and arm swaying rapidly to express her eagerness to answer._

_The old man seemed to purposely overlook her. "No one? Well, then I'll tell you. Today is February first, which means…-"_

_Linda whined aloud. Clearly, the importance of this date meant a lot to the girl. She bolted from her seat and stumbled to the front of the class, offering a large smile. "Today is Mail's 13th birthday!" She cheered loudly, spreading her arms in a gesture of grandeur. "Come over to my house tonight, 'cause I'm throwing him a birthday party!"_

_The redhead buried his face in his hands to hide his embarrassment. "Linda…" he groaned, scuffing his feet along the floor to aid the suppression of his slight anxiety._

_Just then, quiet murmurs erupted amongst the students, followed by loud, mocking laughter. Then, pencils, pens, erasers, and balls of paper flew from all directions, all directed at the alleged birthday boy._

_Linda frowned and slowly claimed her seat, looking pathetic and feeling low; she just wanted to throw the redhead a nice birthday party. With lots of friends and presents and fun stuff like that._

_Taunts and jeers and insults came in rapid slurs. Even the aging teacher ground his dentures to force back a snigger before he called for the class to calm down once more. "No, actually. As fun and exciting as that little charade was, today is special because we are about to study a new chapter in Political Economics. In this chapter, we will be discussing Kira's reign and how this form of government came to be. It all started with an idea and a notebook."_

_Mail ignored the lecture. He glanced at Linda and saw her desolate expression. He made a small noise to gain her attention before sticking his tongue out and scrunching up his nose, making what he perceived to be a funny face. _

_The girl smiled immediately, her bout of sadness forgotten as she fixed her face and tried for a similarly warped countenance._

"_Linda," he whispered to her. "I'll be there after school. Promise."_

"_Pinky promise?" she asked, reaching towards him and extending her pinky._

"_Promise," he answered, mimicking her actions and wrapping his finger around hers._

_She never looked happier than she did in that moment. "Good. And don't forget to meet me for Lunch, okay?"_

_The boy opened his mouth to affirm, but he was quickly cut off by: "Mail Jeevas!" The old man rasped at him." Class-time is not social-time. I'm tired of your little distractions." He paused long enough to scribble something or another on a small piece of paper. "Please take this note to the office, see if you can be transferred to another Political Economics class."_

_Mail got up and took the note, wincing at the idea of no longer sharing a class with Linda. Still, he stole his books and supplies from his desk and did as told, making his way to the principal's office. He flashed the note and an ornery grin before being told that Lind L. Tailor would be his new teacher._

_Later, he found himself sitting in a new seat in a new classroom. Mr. Tailor droned on and on about Kyosuke Higuchi, one of the more famous Kira's in the New World's history. He gradually worked his way from the past to the present, getting slightly more excited as he talked of the current Kira._

_But all the redheaded student could think about was Lunch, followed by the party Linda would throw for him. He'd forgotten his own birthday, but… Linda, his best friend and secret crush, had not. She'd remembered, as she always did. Only, this year would be different. This year, Mail was going to finally admit his feelings for her._

_He was staring out the window, thinking up his words carefully, hoping she'd return the affection when, suddenly, a woman burst into the room. She wasn't a particularly attractive woman, and the clacking of her heels was grating on the redhead's ears. Before Mail could really focus on her face, a vice like grip closed on his wrist and he found himself being dragged from the room..._

…

Bright Eyes was choking on his own breath as he opened his eyes and willed his vision into focus. His respiration came in gasps; he couldn't breathe. And that smell, what was it? Smoke? Gunpowder? He quickly covered his mouth and got up. Mello was beside him, gun in one hand and cordite in the other. Shit was going down, that much was obvious.

_How long had he been cataleptic? What had he missed? Where had the increased number of antagonists come from?_

A bullet whizzed past the redhead, grazing a limb –but the pain went unregistered. He drew forth a trusty MK .23, knowing that it was his most accurate firearm. He hurtled his back against the blonde's, alerting him that he was up and ready to help. "I've got you covered."

"Glad you could join me, pussyboy," he ground out, jumper already stained in red splotches but nothing that looked too serious.

The redhead chuckled humorlessly, taking count of their adversaries.

Ten in total. There were six Southern troopers and what appeared to be four Northies.

"I've got your back, Mello, but when did the fuckin' Northies start workin' with the South?"

Mello growled, chucking the live cordite and opening fire on his enemies.

Bright Eyes tried not to breathe in the thick fumes; they hurt his lungs and made his head fuzzy. But his adrenaline was on high and he would not go down without a fight. He shoved his elbow into the blonde to knock him back a pace and dodged to the side, allowing them both to avoid a bullet that might have been fatal.

"We're outnumbered," Mello barked heatedly, running out of ammunition and deserting his gun.

"No shit, genius," the redhead countered, spotting and grabbing two knives from the ground; he handed one off to Mello. "We're just outside the Center! The troops must've come to stock up on supplies. That would make sense. They're low on supplies, ammunition included! We should have an advantage here."

"Well, we don't. We're not doin' well, are we? Between your busted body and fucked up head, I'm practically fighting solo!"

Something in the blonde's words seemed to flip a switch in the redhead. His eyes glazed over with the yearning for battle and his body moved seemingly on its own accord. He knocked Mello to the ground and lunged at the nearest target. He plunged the knife into the abdomen of one man and gave a twist before roughly yanking it out; he heard the body hit the ground as he moved to the next target, slitting a throat this time. Next, he grabbed hold of a woman; he stabbed the knife into her shoulder and left it there. He watched her mouth open to scream, but… he couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear anything. Everything seemed so far away as he went in for the kill, first forcing his quarry's arm from its socket and then curling steel-plated hands into lethal fists before delivering a skull-crushing blow.

Bright Eyes was vaguely aware that things were being said; shouts and obscenities and demands, but he couldn't make them out. The voices, they were so far away; the volume was too low. He just had to keep going. Had to keep moving. Couldn't stop. He wasn't ready to die, and if these fuckers had to be slaughtered to preserve his own life, then he'd gladly do it.

_Survival of the fittest. Perish the weak. Revel in glory. All in the name of God!_

During the small annihilation, the redhead was shot two more times, but any damage he took was not distinguished. When bodies littered the ground and only he and one other remained standing, he turned his attention to a familiar blonde. Something inside him told him to hold back, but he couldn't control himself. His insides lusted for blood and his body ached for action. His mind was numb… and he felt wonderfully intoxicated.

He felt as if he were backed into a corner, but there was no fear. He felt threatened, but that only drove him into an excitable frenzy. He needed to vanquish any and all coercions. That was his training, wasn't it? Only the strong survive, and he was strong. The chilled metal in his hands assured that.

Said hands found themselves gripping wrists with a bone-crushing force; he easily pinned a lithe body against the wall of the nearby Med Center. He stared into the face of his victim, but… he couldn't make out the features; he couldn't see the terror that should have been there. His victim… had no face?

The redhead's vision was blurring again. He released the blonde and stumbled back. He heard an angry voice, but he couldn't make out the words. He was so tired. He'd lost a considerable amount of blood; his head was pounding; and he was exhausted beyond comprehension.

"Bright Eyes? Bright Eyes, snap the fuck out of it!" Mello was shouting. The redheaded Eastern soldier had nearly attacked him. And, he had no doubt that he would have died if things had progressed. The redhead seemed to be a monster at that moment. A deadly efficient one, capable of snapping necks, breaking limbs, and just… killing. It was frightening.

"I'm not weak," Bright Eyes murmured, clumsily shoving a hand into his pocket and pulling out his P99; he fumbled to change the clip. Then he cocked the gun and took aim at his blonde companion.

The blue-eyed youth took a staggering step away from the wall of the Med Center and afforded distance between himself and the other. He quickly realized that the barrel of the gun was shakily aimed between his eyes. "This is exactly what I was talking about!" Mello screamed. "You have no fucking value for human life! I was trying to help you, fucker!"

The redhead narrowed his eyes and gripped the gun tighter, barely applying pressure to the trigger. "No value for human life? I have plenty of value for human life. But the only life I care about… is my own."

Blue eyes blazed with fury. "How can you be so heartless? What did they do to you in training to make you so... monstrous? What fucked you up like this?" He flung his arms out in a wild gesticulation.

Bright Eyes tilted his head. His eyes radiated with a manic fury that reminded him of those horrible red eyes that cackled at him, as though mocking his lack of memories. "You want to know what made me so inhumane? Fine." He squeezed the trigger and watched with a grim satisfaction that frightened him when blood sailed from Mello's left hand. The blonde fell to the ground, cradling his hand and howling. The redhead advanced and kicked to blonde onto his back, holding down his right hand by the wrist with the leather of his combat boots. "This is what they did to me," he hissed, putting a bullet through the blonde's right hand. He grinned outrageously at the scream that echoed through the room before looking into the traumatized blue eyes that stared up at him.

Suddenly, Bright Eyes staggered back a couple of steps and looked down at his hands. He saw the gun, clenched it, and looked back at the blood that spilled from the blonde's hands. He was almost in disbelief at what he saw; at what he'd done. "I... I have to go," he murmured, forsaking the gun and taking off, bolting in the general direction of the South.

…

The redhead had been gone for a good while. Mello had extended his trip around the Center to take care of his hands. Doing so was painful and difficult, so he was relieved at the sight of a purple-helmeted teen entering through the wooden door and proceeding to carelessly strip the jumper from himself.

"You're Dizzy, aren't you?" he asked, pressing gauze to one of the holes in his hands.

Once stripped, the teen pulled on a t-shirt and shorts from a cubby hole that had been labeled with a letter _D_. "I'm Dizzy," he said quietly, offering a sad smile to the blonde. "And you're a friend of Bright Eyes," he murmured, approaching and taking the first aid supplies into consideration; he methodically cleaned and dressed the wounded hands of the blonde.

"Mihael," the blonde said with a small sigh as he examined his thickly padded hands.

"Hn?"

"My name is Mihael," he particularized. "And I'm not exactly a friend of Bright Eyes."

Dizzy shrugged and dropped a wad of bloody gauze into the trash bin. "I'm… Dizzy."

The blonde sighed and gave a nod. "Yeah, but don't you remember your birth name?"

The helmeted youth frowned and screwed his eyes up in concentration. Then he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do."

"Well, what is it?"

"D-Darwin," he said in a small voice.

Mello, also known as Mihael, looked at the other and gave an approving smile. "It suits you. Mind if I call you _Darwin_?"

Dizzy seemed to visibly tense up at the very idea. He shook his head slowly. "No, that's okay. What if you talk about me to other people? They won't know who I am. "

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet," quoted the blonde.

"Sh-Shakespear?" questioned the helmeted boy.

And Mihael's expression brightened. "So… you are smart, aren't you?"

"Not really; Virus used to read to me." Dizzy explained. Then he produced a notebook and held it up for the blonde to see. "This book belonged to Virus. In it can be found every secret to the grounds of The Crater. Every hiding spot. Every settlement of troops. Every tactic he's ever dreamed up to make certain that we get into battle and make it home in one piece. Everything that's ever meant anything to Virus is in here."

Mihael stared at the notebook intensely. "Wait… Your battle schematics are in there?" The blonde then recalled his own reason for being in The Crater. He was to invade and observe; then he was to get the fuck out of there and recount his knowledge to L and his fellow members of the Resistance Army. They needed an advantage over Kira's army.

Wait, he wasn't only here for his mission, was he? No, that couldn't be it. In less than 24 hours, he'd nearly forgotten the original plans and had set his sights on trying to understand and help a strange soldier who'd yet to fully adjust to life in The Crater. Even though he and Bright Eyes weren't on good terms, he'd taken it upon himself to succor, and in return, he'd taken bullets and knives; then he'd received a hole through each hand, courtesy of a crazed simulation of someone who'd once been a skin-headed child on the Convoy.

But the look in those green eyes after he'd shot the blonde… was haunting. He'd seemed frightened and surprised. He appeared to have been unaware of anything until his act of violence was over; then he was terrified, possibly of himself.

The blonde found his thoughts lingering on the deranged redhead more than he liked.

'_I just want to complete my current mission and serve Kira; that's all I've ever known, so that's all I really want.'_

He thought about the words Bright eyes had said. If those words were legit, then…-

Dizzy didn't let the blonde continue this line of thinking. "Are you staying long?"

"Come again?" Mello incurred.

"You're not a soldier. You don't have the wherewithal of one of us. I can't understand why you'd come here, but perhaps you came to save Bright Eyes? Are you going to stay long? And… when you leave, can you take Virus with you?"

Mihael tried to run a hand through his hair, out of sheer habit; he raised his hand to his head and hissed at the instant soreness that swallowed his senses. "You're right. I'm not a soldier like you; I'm just a normal teen with a mom, a dad, and a future full of goals and possibilities. I don't plan on staying more than a couple days, at most. And… why would I take your Tactician?"

And Dizzy was quick to call forth an answer, determination blazing in his eyes, curtained by messy locks poking out from his helmet. "Because Virus deserves to leave. Virus has done more than his fair share, and if he stays much longer, I fear for his life. Please… just… take him out of here, if you can." The teen's eyes were shiny with unshed tears as his voice squeaked with eagerness.

The blonde closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Listen, kid, I don't know. I have my own agenda. Even if you weren't a bunch of blood-thirsty militants, I'm not sure I could take anyone with me."

Hearing this, tears finally let loose, trailing down Dizzy's cheeks as he buried his face in his hands and trembled the force of silent sobs.

Mello stared at the soldier with wide eyes. He slowly raised one of his hands and placed it on Dizzy's back, suppressing a wince. "H-Hey, I didn't say I couldn't –I said: _I don't know_... But, I might be able to." When Dizzy's sobs didn't subside, Mello bit his lip and looked away. "Look kid, if it's at all possible then I'll take him. I'll try my hardest to get him out of here, alright?"

Dizzy looked up and smiled sweetly, eyes all trust and belief. "You will? Thank you so much Mihael! He deserves to leave," Dizzy insisted while wiping the tears from his face.

Mello's only reaction was to take a deep breath and look away, wondering what he'd just done and whether or not he could keep such a ludicrous promise.

Then without admonition another voice sounded… "Dizzy!"

Both snapped around to see another teen approaching.

The new arrival was a male –tall and lanky, muscular in a compact way. His hair was shaggy and long, shining ebony in the sunlight. He had a look of melancholy etched onto his features, even though he stepped over dead bodies with no hesitation. His eyes were light brown, like melted chocolate. He had a machine gun strapped over his shoulder and a hunting knife crudely strapped to his thigh. He was clad in a pair of baggy black pants with buckles and chains hanging from them. Black combat boots laced up to his knees. A tight black shirt with a faded logo that read "Slayer" in bleeding letters hugged his toned chest. He strode up to Dizzy, who threw his arms around the youth's neck.

"A!" the helmeted teen cried. "Things have been crazy without you! How were we supposed to get along without our Commanding Officer?" He smiled brightly. "We missed you. Where have you been?"

"That isn't important right now," the teen – _A_ –replied while hugging Dizzy back. "Who is the blonde?" he barked sharply. Dizzy jumped away and pointed a long finger in Mello's direction.

"This is Mihael! He isn't a soldier, but he's a friend of Bright Eyes. Bright Eyes is the new recruit of the East, and he's a meanie! He doesn't like Virus, nope! But Virus is gone! I found his chair. It was empty! But it's all wrong; he needs his chair! We need to go get Virus!" Dizzy ended his tirade with a hop on the balls of his feet, neglecting to mention the possibility of Virus leaving with Mihael.

"Virus is being held in the Southern Wing," Mihael interjected.

"Then let's go get him," A said, turning to the South.

"But we have to go find Bright Eyes!" Dizzy squeaked.

Mello looked around and then down at his hands. He wasn't too sure if he really wanted to face such a deranged monster, especially after what the redhead had done to him… But the memory of those haunted green eyes that were flickering with fear and confusion seared in his brain. He knew then and there that he had to find the lost soldier.

"Let's go find Bright Eyes," said A, appeasing the helmeted youth more than anything.

Mello's breath hitched. "He's a good soldier and he'd be a valuable asset in retrieving Virus," he announced.

Dizzy simply grinned cheekily, glad for a multitude of reason at the moment.

After that, they departed. Dizzy and A went together, heading towards the East in their own little search; Dizzy made wild gestures and played pretend while A chuckled approvingly at his odd bouts of innocence. –Mello, however, marched angrily to the West, craving chocolate and wondering why he was going after the teen that had disabled his hands.

Then the words echoed in his brain.

'_I just want to complete my current mission and serve Kira; that's all I've ever known, so that's all I really want.' _

All he'd ever known...? Was that possible? The notion implied either a ridiculously violent past… or memory loss.

Recalling the rather innocent kid he'd met on the Convoy, the latter seemed more probable.

Did that lost soldier really not remember his family? His friends? His life before the Initiation? Or was it all lost on him? In any case, something was wrong, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. Then he'd figure out the best route for completing his own duties for L and the Resistance.

A flash of red caught Mello's eye. He looked over and found the redhead sitting against a wall, knees drawn up and eyes trained on the blood-splattered ground before him.

Again, Mello wondered if the solder had ever known a world that wasn't bathed in blood.

A pair of green eyes looked up at him. They widened in recognition and fear and he scrabbled backwards.

"Bright Eyes," Mello said softly, dropping down to a crouch. He stared into those wide emeralds and inched his way closer to the shaking teen. When he was within arm's reach, he leaned forward, causing the redhead to press himself against the wall.

"D-Don't come any closer," Bright Eyes stuttered.

"You won't hurt me. And I won't hurt you," Mello insisted. He sat down next to Bright Eyes and watched him closely.

The redhead leaned his head back against the wall, exhausted. Bits of cloth were wrapped around his wounds, stemming the blood flow.

"How much do you remember about your life?" Mello asked softly, hoping that Bright Eyes wouldn't panic or work himself into a frenzy.

The redhead was silent for a while. He tilted his head back and let it hit the wall with a soft _thunk_.

"_Nothing_," he finally said, his tone full of apathy. "I remember... nothing. I just woke up one day and talked to a lady. She told me I'd been in an accident and had just come out of a coma. She gave me a pill and then I was taken to the Initiation. Then…-" he trailed off, his words no longer flowing but the hollowness in his eyes clearly saying that his mind was replaying events. Finally, he continued. "Before all that, there's nothing. Just an emptiness that hurts my head and makes me feel funny. So, I ignore it. I focus on what I _do_ know. I focus on Kira and my training."

Mello nodded in mock understanding. He didn't know what that was like, but the utter determination to follow that fake God made sudden sense. "Why did you shoot me in the hands?"

Matt looked over. "You asked me why I was so... inhumane. You wanted to know what they did to me. So, I showed you."

Mello shot him a questioning look, but it wasn't needed.

Bright Eyes continued without prompt. "The pill that lady gave me... It made me black out for a long time. When I came around... I was tied to a cross. God met me. He... He told me that I was to do his bidding. That I would achieve greatness through God's will. He... crucified me. He put stakes through my hands. Right here..." he unfolded his hands to reveal the dreadful cross-shaped scars that marred the alabaster flesh.

Mello had to repress the bile that tried to rise up in his throat.

"They've always reminded me. But it hurt... so much. And, those tags that you turned down on the Convoy... Do you remember them? I took them. They were a form of currency. I needed that. I killed and slaughtered and did everything I could do to get more and more tags; I used them for medical attention to my hands. I had the bones mended and plated in steel. I… I couldn't be weak, you see? I didn't want to die like some nameless nobody."

Mello's eyes widened. Everything the redhead had done for the use of his hands had turned him into a killer; it had made him ruthless. Mello knew, looking down at his own bandaged palms, that without the use of his own hands, he too would be weak, vulnerable.

Anyone would need the use of their hands, lest they feel incapable. Fragile. Insecure. The very idea was painful to imagine, so living it would surely be a sort of hell.

The blonde turned the thoughts over in his head before pushing himself to his feet. "Come on, pussy. The Commanding Officer of the Eastern Wing is somewhere in the East with Dizzy. We'll regroup; then we're going to get Virus."

"But he's weak," protested Bright Eyes.

Mello thought his next words over carefully. "Do you think I'm weak?"

The redhead's response was a quick and firm: "No. Not at all."

"And yet, here I am, with unusable hands and hardly any weapons. I'm injured and physically spent. And you don't think I'm weak. Well, Virus isn't weak either. Now shut your fuckin' mouth and come with me."

Without another word, the redhead obeyed, completely at ease to be given orders to follow.

…

* * *

**/Okay, there you have it. Ch4 of CiTC is done! Next chappie, I promise to get things settled with Virus, and we'll check up on PennyBandit while we're at it, 'kay? Also, Bright Eyes will probably gain the alias _Matt_! I'm just throwin' stuff out here, so don't take any of it to heart, because my ideas for the next chappie are only half-baked. In any case, REVIEW!/**


	6. Battlefront Expense

**Title:** Cinders in The Crater

**Summary:** Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DN. The plot and OCs are mine. Anything referenced is either owned by someone more respectable than I, or is purely a coincidence. That is all, thankyou.

**Thank My Beta: **THANK CATATONIC VANITY!

**Author's Note:** Fuck, my brain's in overdrive, and it has no right to be! Only three crucial things happen in this chapter, so… go ahead and get reading!

**Mine: **The Crater is mine. Dizzy, Virus, PennyBandit, Westie boys, Bucky, Serotonin, and Demo are all mine too. (So far, that's it.)

…

* * *

**Chapter Five: **Battlefront Expense

Heading East was nothing fantastical, though the dynamic duo did show respect for the fallen by gathering the bodies of comrades and enemies alike, preparing for a trip to the incinerator. The bodies were piled high somewhere between the Centers and the Eastern Wing.

"Should we burn them now, or would it be alright to wait? I'm not sure I can drag this many bodies to the incinerator." Mello looked at his hands. The thick bandages were wet and dripping liquid copper. They were the most painful injury he'd ever sustained, and using them was nearly impossible.

The redhead took a quick count of the corpses, feeling as indifferent as a stock boy charting inventory. "I'm not feeling so great myself, but if we wait too long, the bodies will rot and maggots will be everywhere. Trust me; it's better to just do it now. Plus, it's cold, and the incinerator is warm. It'll be more beneficial if we clean up the mess now and regroup afterwards."

The blonde grit his teeth and looked at his bloody appendages. "Well, even so… I can't."

"What's that? Speak up."

Bandaged fists clenched tightly; crimson pooled on the ground below. "I… can't. I said _I can't_, okay? My hands fuckin' hurt, and I'm in no condition to be dragging bodies around."

Bright Eyes glowered. "You don't have to do anything then. If a few shattered bones and a bit of blood loss is going to make you useless, then so be it. I'll do it all on my own." His tone grew slightly egotistical as he said this, grabbing a corpse by the leg and beginning to slog it; he forced back winces and gasps of pain that ran through his body. His wounds were more numerous than he'd realized, thus he didn't get very far before his legs buckled beneath him. He refused to let himself fall, so he stiffened his muscles and joints, forcing himself up even as he dropped the dead man's leg. "Fine," he grumbled. "We… will handle the bodies later."

Mello nodded. "Sounds good. Now, let's go find Dizzy and A. Then we'll rescue your Tactician."

"Alright, but Virus is still weak; he's still cripple. If he was of any use, he'd have gotten himself out of trouble."

The blonde rolled his eyes but gave no further response.

Then they slowly made their way to the Eastern Wing, and then to the inner sanctum. Once inside the decomposing shelter, they seated themselves for a much-needed break; their bodies were worn and exhausted.

Only seconds ticked by before the redhead emptied his duffle, retrieved four pills and two bottles of water; he split the salvaged items between himself and the blonde. "Pain killers. Little life-savers in a bottle –but you need to take them sparingly because they're addictive," Bright Eyes explained, downing two pills with the aid of the water.

The blonde mimicked, taking the drug and waiting for it to work its magic. "So, about your memory loss…" he tried to converse, hoping to get his mind off the ache that devoured him whole.

"It's nothing, Mello," the soldier responded. "Memories would get in the way," he said, resting his head in his hands and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "I am strong. I am a soldier. I can't be weak. I must persevere."

"Back up, Bright Eyes," the blonde snapped kicking the Eastern youth in the shin and earning a yelp of pain. "First off, stop calling me _Mello_. I have a name. It's _Mihael_. And believe me, if I knew your birth name, I'd use it out of respect. I refuse to use the name assigned to me by a false God."

The redhead simply gripped his head firmly, hissing quietly. "Will you shut up? I can hear the voices again."

The blonde quirked a brow and kicked the soldier's shin again. "Voices?"

"Yeah. Voices. Kids laughing. People talking. Stuff like that."

"Oh, fuck, you're really going crazy, aren't you? You gonna be alright, puss-puss?"

"Shut up, Blondie. The voices will go away in a minute. They're just… really loud today."

Mihael watched Bright Eyes closely for what he supposed was a long time. Then he got to his feet. Sure enough, he was relieved to find that the meds were doing their job; he couldn't feel a thing, though his mind was marginally hazed and his limbs vaguely tingled. He focused on the other teen. "How often do you hear the voices? Are they talking to you right now? What are they saying?" Truthfully, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know or if he was just tired of the awkward silence that had engulfed the cramped quarters that they currently occupied.

Bright Eyes groaned softly, lifting his head and thunking it on the wall behind him. "Just… please leave me alone. They'll stop. They always do. It mainly happens when I'm stressed or… damaged."

"_Damaged_?" the blond questioned in a dubious tenor, looking the redhead over. "You're worse for wear, but you're not damaged. You're not some product. You're human –even if you don't necessarily act like it. Fuck, Bright Eyes, you need to get out of here."

The redhead said nothing. He simply stood and remained stationary until he got used to the odd sensations coursing through his legs; then he walked to the far end of the sanctum and retrieved a familiar tin box full of countless metal tags. Wordlessly, he trudged over to the storage closet and placed the box on the shelf near Serotonin's sketch pad.

"What are you doing? Did the voices tell you to…-" Mihael began to question, but his query went unfinished as he was interrupted.

"No. The voices don't tell me what to do. They just… haunt me; they laugh at me, like they know all the things that I'm supposed to know. As for why I'm placing the tags up here –I just thought it to be fitting. The shelf is supposed to be some kind of memorial-thing, I guess. And a lot of soldiers died to earn me these tags."

At that moment, the blonde stared in awe. "No, you're wrong. They weren't _soldiers_. Not really. They were just scared and confused kids. You were just like them once, and you killed them. Perhaps that's why you're hearing voices. Maybe it's God's way of telling you…-"

"No, it's not like that. Stop trying to push your religion on me. And stop analyzing me. I'm not a psychologically fucked up moron. I just… keep thinking things –weird things. About a man who crawls on all fours; he has blood-colored eyes and a horrid laugh. Then there's a girl named Linda; she has sparkly eyes and soft hair; and she's so kind it makes me sick –I kinda wanna punch her. And lastly, there's a boy named Mail; he's a weak and scrawny redhead. He takes shit from everybody, even when he didn't do anything to warrant the negativity. He just sits back… and lets life happen to him."

Mihael sighed. "Bright Eyes… I've never had his sort of thing happen to me, so I have no room to talk, but I… want you to leave this place. I think it'd be beneficial for you to get out of this war zone."

The redhead's body suddenly tensed up. He was speechless for a moment before he regained composure. "Kira needs me here."

"_Kira_? Is that _all_ you can think about? _This_ isn't even the so-called _Great War_. This is some kind of training camp gone wrong," he tried to reason with the soldier, though he knew it was a fruitless endeavor. Realizing this, he decided to drop the subject for now. "Let's just go find Dizzy and A. I'm tired and hungry, and I have things to do before I can leave this shithole." With that, he turned to the exit and pried the heavy door open.

Reclaiming his duffle, Bright Eyes followed in suit, pushing all thoughts from his mind and seemingly functioning on auto-pilot.

…

In seemingly no time at all, the Eastern soldier and his intrusive companion were at the Eastern incinerator, where they spotted a short teen with a purple helmet and another older teen with dark shaggy hair and a contagious aura of confidence.

"Dizzy. A." Mello greeted casually, approaching the incinerator and watching the other two pile bodies into the beckoning infernos.

Bright Eyes dragged his feet as he advanced, picking up a body and assisting; he grunted with the effort of moving the corpse.

Dizzy smiled brightly at the new arrivals. "Mihael, you found Bright Eyes! Oh, and A said he has a plan to get Virus! Isn't it great?" He crammed another cadaver into the hungry flames and then proceeded to skip in a wide circle, swinging arms and bobbing his head like a kid practicing for a big hopscotch tournament.

The blonde tried to smile kindly, though he was certain that the contortion was not seen as such; his natural scowl was far too prominent.

A remained silent until their work at the incinerator was finished; then his face took on a grave manifestation as he looked at his three comrades. "Listen up, soldiers. The enemy is strong. Their quantities are great. We won't be expecting new recruits for another week or so. This means that we have to work with our meek populace. Our best bet is to gain assistance from a few rogue Northies and then steer clear of trouble. We'll worry about this after we rescue Virus."

"I'm Dizzy!" shouted the helmeted youth, crouching down and pretending to rev a motorcycle.

"Yes, we all know who you are, Dizzy-boy. Now, let me see that notebook again." A's voice was firm but not condescending, a rather hard thing to pull off, but he seemed to accomplish this with ease. His very demeanor screamed superiority without the complex.

Dizzy produced a notebook and handed it to his Commanding Officer. "Page 37, I think." He paused before pointing at the redhead. "Almost forgot to introduce you! A, that's Bright Eyes, by the way. He's such a meanie sometimes."

A nodded indolently; his attention was clearly focused on the notebook and its contents. "Page 37, it is. A simple infiltration tactic." He gestured to himself and the other three. "We have our infantry right here. If need be, we'll gather a few Northies to flank us. At whatever cost, we'll come out with our Tactician. Simple enough. Any questions?"

Mello gawked at A. Had his hands had expedient mobility, he would have clenched them into fists and punched something or someone, depending. Instead, he settled for a glower and a choice bit of word-vomit. "_Small unit of infantry –_meaning _us_, you dill-fuckin'-hole, _is to penetrate enemy weak points to bypass and isolate heavily defended positions in the front line. Infantrymen with heavier weapons –_presumably _Northies_, if they're willing, and that's a big if_ –would then follow up and have a great advantage when attacking the isolated enemy strong points. Other reinforcements could then enter these breaches, and the entire enemy line would shortly collapse._ –Is that what you're saying? It's referred to as a _Hutier Tactic_, and it's fuckin' suicide. Way too many Southern troops for it to work."

Hearing the blonde's negativity, Dizzy clamped both hands onto his helmet and made a loud whining noise. "If Virus was here, he'd know what to do!" He latched onto Bright Eyes, nearly knocking him over in the process.

Bright Eyes grit his teeth and held himself steady. "Whether or not it works, let's just go. We're not accomplishing anything by lingering by the incinerator."

The Commanding Officer eyed the redhead carefully. "Good thinking. Run head-first into battle. It's always a good idea_ –unless, of course, you have something or someone to come back to."_ He looked the teen over, gauging a reaction that didn't come. "Alright, let's go," he finally said, waving one hand and clutching his gun in the other.

…

Breeching the South was not going to be easy, especially with a squad of only four. A good twenty or so men were patrolling the border, laboriously safeguarding their Wing.

"Keep quiet. Stay hidden until the last possible moment," whispered A as he crouched between a large crate and an iron fence.

Dizzy narrowed his eyes and adjusted his helmet before stealing a 9mm pistol from a concealed holster and attaching a silencer. "I can take out at least five on my own," he muttered, flashing a somewhat crooked grin.

Mihael nodded in approval and surveyed the formation of the Southern troops. "I can do two, maybe three. My hands are…-" He didn't finish, though he did steal a glance at the thick bandages that were gradually turning more crimson than white.

"Give me five or more," declared the redhead, a fraught periphery in his voice.

A premeditated and gave a nod. "Alright, new tactic. From page 43. Hit and Run. Blondie and Bright Eyes will each subvert from a separate bearing, catching the flock by surprise. Dizzy will stay back and red-light from an axis-point. As Commanding Officer, I'll bring up the rear and take out the remainder. If we pull this off, we are not –_repeat: not!_ –going to cross directly into the South right away. Instead, we run. Retreat. Head back towards the Centers and journey West. We'll gather rogue Westies and then revive our diplomacies in the South once more."

Bright Eyes nodded in understanding. (The Hit and Run tactic was going to be used solely to reduce the number of troops in the South before they finally go in for the retrieval.)

The blonde snorted and averted his gaze. "A… You almost sound like a leader."

"Now is no time for pleasantries, Blondie. Let's move."

…

The next events happened so fast. Bright Eyes and Mello split up, each creeping in from different sides. The redhead snuck up behind a Southern trooper and snapped a neck; then he choke slammed a neighboring guard and easily crushed a windpipe in the process. Meanwhile, the blonde tried for a different maneuver, wanting to use his hands as little as possible. He bent his leg for a kick, and the snap was redirected, whipping into an arc and hitting the target, effectively disarming a brutish man; he then arose to land butterfly-kicks between two oncoming assailants; a finishing calf-kick sent his enemies to the ground. He stomped their heads, feeling skulls crack beneath his weight.

The redhead drove his fist into any and everything that moved and wasn't Mello. He grabbed, punched, pulled, yanked, and clawed at the Southern troops like his life depended on it.

Mihael demonstrated fancy footwork in the absence of his hands. An axe-kick here. A hook-kick there. Scissor-kicks, reverse roundhouse-kicks, combination and flying heel kicks! Each thrust of the leg was crucial and each move was executed flawlessly.

Of course, the helmeted teen remained hidden, flitting off bullets and successfully making headshots as he kept out of the thick of the action.

Bodies were dropping. Even before A raced onto the scene.

Enemies drew knives. A quarter stick of dynamite went off somewhere in the midst. The smoke made combat more difficult.

A let loose, applying pressure to his trigger and going manic at the feel of reverberation from his gun. Unfortunately, after only a round of bullets, another stick of dynamite went off and he had to abandon his firearm; the thickened atmosphere made gunfire too risky to work with. He unsheathed his knife and went in for close-ranged combat.

The battle continued. The number of Southern adversaries increased –nearly_ tripling_! Screams and shouts rang out, their decibels rivaling the cries of victims, the clinking of metal as knife met knife, and thunderous whoops of bombs amongst the conflict.

In a matter of minutes, the Eastern soldiers decided that they'd stirred up enough drama; they hastily made their getaway, leaving before the smoke had even cleared.

…

Bright Eyes passed the Center and headed West; he was in the lead. He'd counted fourteen people whose lives he'd ended. He halted his trek and looked back to count his companions. To his chagrin, his Commanding Officer was running up to him, completely uninjured with a semi-conscious Mello in his arms; Mello's jumper was singed and seared. His hair was frayed and his skin was covered in angry burns that were red in some places and crispy/black in others.

Dizzy was nowhere in sight.

"Men, we enter the gates to the West and fall in," A decreed in a firm voice, jogging passed the redhead and into the Western Wing.

Bright Eyes followed close, limping slightly.

They entered the Western Wing and veered left. A small bungalow stood near the inner sanctum. A kicked open the door to the lodge and carried the blonde inside.

Bright Eyes flanked and saw A placing Mihael on a small makeshift cot.

"He must've been a little too close to the dynamite when it went off," said A, assessing the damage.

The redhead turned his gaze to the cement floor; his chest tightened and he unconsciously retrieved the pair of goggles from his pocket and pulled them on over his eyes. The orange that flooded his vision did little to calm his rattled nerves. The battle had been brutal, and the fact that the blonde had sustained such damage made him feel a strange bout of responsibility.

A looked back to Bright Eyes. "Man-up, soldier. This kind of thing happens all the time. Blondie will be alright. We just need to treat his burns. Do you know PennyBandit? She's a good medic –worked at the Med Center before things went downhill. Go find her."

The redhead opened his mouth to speak, but his throat felt as if he had a lump in it; his stomach was doing flips. When he finally coaxed words from his mouth, his tone was soft and pitiable. "He'll be okay if I find PennyBandit?" He paused and leaned heavily against the wall, glad for not needing to support himself at the moment; his legs were buckling and his entire frame threatened to tremble. "And what of Dizzy? Why didn't Dizzy come to the West with us? We shouldn't have left him. What if…-"

A shrugged, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before interrupting the redhead. "Dizzy… will be missed. He was a fine soldier. Brave. Good-natured. He would have made a fine young man." He cleared his throat and inclined his head, trying for a strong albeit arrogant appearance. "This kind of thing happens all the time. In Dizzy's honor, we will not stop until Virus is safe. It's what the kid would want."

Bright Eyes listened to the words and felt depression eat at his insides. He reached a hand to fiddle with the strap of his goggles; then he looked at the blonde teen.

Mihael's eyes were closed, hiding the deepest blues that were his eyes, and his breathing had slowed; with his clothing in tatters, his poor physical condition was a little too evident.

"If I go find PennyBandit, will you wait with Mell-erm-_Mihael_?" The goggled youth didn't wait for his Commanding Officer to respond. He simply slipped his hands into his pockets and limped to the door; he forced it open.

"Be careful, soldier," was the last thing Bright Eyes heard before he left the dingy shanty.

…

Bright Eyes made his way to the inner sanctum of the West with ease.

Inside the sanctum, Westies were grouped in threes and fours, some sleeping and others quietly chatting. PennyBandit stood tall and proud in the middle of the room; she placed her hands on her hips and kept watch over her troops. Her eyes found the redhead and her lips quirked into a welcoming smile. "Nice to see you, soldier. You're Bright Eyes, yes?"

"No time to chat. Need help. Mihael needs medical attention quickly. Then I am requesting some of your troops to flank us on our trip to the South. Virus is being held captive for reasons that are unknown." Bright Eyes spoke swiftly, gaze trained on the female; he tried and failed to keep the sound of desperation out of his voice.

PennyBandit looked the redhead over and gave a curt nod. "Well, soldier, I don't normally go out of my way to help anyone other than Vire and Dizzers, but… Vire is captive, and helping you would indirectly help them. I'm in. My troops are too. When do we move?"

And BrightEyes smiled. It was so strange that someone from a different Wing would be so willing to offer support. The moment he realized that he was smiling, he willed the expression into apathy.

But it was too late; the female had noticed. PennyBandit chuckled quietly and looped an arm around the redhead. "You and I will go help your friend now. My troops will come later." She paused and appraised his condition. "You've been playing hard, haven't you? You haven't been here long, but you've made quite a name for yourself. A few of my boys are talkin' 'bout ya. They've been watching you carry men and women to the incinerator. They've watched some of your little brawls. We're all impressed with your ethics." She paused and quirked a brow. "Do you need more supplies."

"No, I'm good," Bright Eyes said, face flushing at the indirect compliments. "I just… need you… to help my… _friend_." The last word left a odd taste in his mouth; if felt peculiar to say the least.

"_Friend_? So, you've finally dropped the punkass bad boy attitude and are understanding the importance of comrades? In that case, let's go, kid. We're wasting time." With that, she bid her fellow Westies goodbye and the two exited.

Bright Eyes led her straight to the bungalow where A and Mello were. The entered and she located a Med-Pack, which was slightly more advanced than a first-aid kit. She got to work with a cheery disposition, humming merrily as she tended to the burnt flesh. When she finished, she and the others seated themselves on cement benches.

"Nice to see you again, Penny," said A, rubbing the back of his neck cumbersomely.

PennyBandit gave no sign of acknowledgment. "Okay, I know we need to rescue Vire, but where's Dizzers? Usually he's hugged me by now. And why don't I hear him pretending to be a plane or a car or something?" She looked between A and Bright Eyes. When she received no answer, her eyes widened in disbelief. "Don't tell me…-" She hadn't the heart to finish her query. She swallowed hard and looked around, trying to focus on something –anything, but her mind was racing too fast; her whole self was sick with worry.

Bright Eyes was the first to speak. "Dizzy was supposed to stay out of the action while we took out Southern troops. I don't know what happened, but when we regrouped, he was no longer with us."

PennyBandit's eyes slipped closed; she covered her mouth with a gloved hand and struggled to control her breathing.

A simply stood up and took a deep breath. "Look, we all cared for Dizzy. Eastern folk and Westies alike. Even some of the Northies were sweet on the kid. But mourning won't change anything. And if I know anything about Dizzy, he'd want us to move on. He'd encourage us to continue to protect each other. He'd tell us to be kind to the new recruits and greet them the moment they get off the Convoy. He'd… want us to find Virus… and get him the fuck out of The Crater." His speech came to an end, and both PennyBandit and Bright Eyes were rallying at the door, eager to avenge their fallen comrade.

"Not you, Bright Eyes," said PennyBandit. "You stay with Blondie. A and I will take my troops and come back with Virus."

"But you're a medic. You'd manage Mihael's injuries better than I could," protested the redhead, his hands already curling into fists in anticipation.

"Don't argue with the lady," said A. "You're injured pretty bad yourself. I don't need another casualty on my conscience."

PennyBandit crossed her arms and glared at the redhead. "Morphine and pain killers. Keep him drugged up, is all I can say. His bandages should be fine until I get back." With that, she yanked open the heavy door and informed A that she and her troops would meet him at the Center shortly. And then she was gone.

A placed a firm hand on the redhead's shoulder and told him not to worry. Then he remained stationary until the moment became uncomfortable. He removed his hand, gave a half-hearted wave and followed in PennyBandit's footsteps.

Once left alone with an unconscious Mello, Bright Eyes stood motionless, not knowing how he should feel at the moment. Somehow, the fact that he _wasn't supposed to feel_ had been pushed to the back of his mind, and every fiber of his being was telling him that he had to do something drastic. _But what?_

…

* * *

**/There you have it. Ch5 of CiTC is done. Questions? Comments? Concerns? Tell me what thoughts my brain juice has led you to think./**


	7. Royal Decree

**Title:** Cinders in The Crater

**Summary:** Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DN. The plot and OCs are mine. Anything referenced is either owned by someone more respectable than I, or is purely a coincidence. That is all, thankyou.

**Thank My Beta: **THANK CATATONIC VANITY!

**THANK HER AGAIN: **That's right, thank CatatonicVanity again. Towards the end, she did some marvelous work in helping me. Fuck, she wrote the end! After Virus is left alone in the South and he's leaning against the wall, she wrote everything after that, and I slightly tweaked about three sentences before adding the a bit of closure. She's amazing, so thank her!

**Author's Note:** We'll start off with Bright Eyes, but then we skip around a bit; the reason for this should be obvious.

**Author's Note II: **FAIR WARNING: Halle and Gevanni are not dead, just… well… Halle is burned, kinda like Mello, but a lot less severe, and Gevanni is missing a few fingers on one of his hands; aside from that, they have minimal damage and are still living.

**Mine: **The Crater is mine. Dizzy, Virus, PennyBandit, Westie boys, Bucky, Serotonin, and Demo are all mine too. And the newest addition to my OCs is the Commanding Officer of the South: Vaccine. (So far, that's it.)

…

* * *

**Chapter Six: **Royal Decree

In the small oasis the Western Wing had to offer, Bright Eyes' claimed use of the Med-Pack to nurture his own injuries. Then he grabbed an old wooden stool and pulled it up alongside the cot on which rested his unconscious companion. He took a seat and stared; he hated that there was nothing somatic to subject himself with, but at least he was able to rest and watch after Mihael.

He tightened his jaw and his lips formed a thin line; the expression made him look so much older than he was. And, looking at the condition of the blonde, he felt sick. Mihael was an avid fighter; for him to be in such a vulnerable state was unsettling.

"You got off the Convoy. You should have stayed away… Idiot," he wanted to have conviction with his words, but any sincerity that might have existed beforehand was gone; he was full of regret and anxiety. He wanted little more than to help his friend –because, in some strange way, this blonde catastrophic teen _was_ his _friend_. This blue-eyed youth whom had come into his life with bound hands, an angry slur of words and the accusation of him being a pussy had really grown on him.

He turned his shielded gaze to the worn stone that tiled the floor. His own meds were wearing off, but he didn't do anything to ease the suffering that would come in waves. Instead, he tried to keep a clear mind and a steady train of thought.

As he sat there, motionless, he opted to understand –which was something he had purposely forced himself not to do. Because with clarity came a conscience, and a conscience is something a good soldier did not need.

But… there was a time when he _wasn't_ a soldier. There was a time when he was a confused kid on a gurney being warned of things yet to come… back before Kira had taken away one of the things that made him human –his hands.

And… surely he had a life before all of that and this? Before The Crater. Before the Convoy. Before his Initiation. Before ambiguous accident that had stolen his childhood. Before that, he had a different life, did he not? Surely, as had been suggested by Mihael on more than one occasion, he had a mom and a dad and a school. Surely he had friends, and...-

…

_Linda's smile was bright as per usual. Her hair was frizzing out in every direction under the static caused by the red rubber balloon that was being rubbed against her head by a particular redhead. His cheeks were aflame, even as he inched the balloon away from Linda and watched the strands chase after._

_She giggled in a way that was probably meant to be endearing, though it tapered off with an obnoxious snort. "S-Sorry, Mail" she murmured, hiding her face and shying away._

"_No, no, it's okay," he responded hastily, face returning to its normal color. "I messed up your hair; it looked funny, and it probably felt weird. And… if you're worried about that little piggy sound you made, don't sweat it –it's kinda… cute."_

_To this, Linda's apprehension dissipated. She stole the balloon and bopped it against Mail's red locks, trying to mimic what he'd been doing to her. _

_Mail only smiled, more at the girl than the feeling of his hair spanning out against the beckoning of the inflatable party favor. When he failed to laugh himself into embarrassment, the girl pressed her nose against his own with enough force to upturn both their snouts; she simultaneously pricked the balloon with her fingernail and caused it to pop._

_Surprised, the redhead let out an indignant sound, to which Linda laughed and fell to the floor, kicking her feet in an exaggerated show of mirth; her skirt slid up and the boy could see her knickers._

_He pretended not to notice, but as he averted his gaze, his lips twisted into a rather ornery grin. "That was unexpected; you sure surprised me," he said. "That's really cool of you."_

"_Oh yeah?" she asked rhetorically, getting to her feet and smoothing the wrinkles from her dressings. "Well, you looked pretty cool too, even though I scared you." She playfully punched his shoulder._

_He pretended to wince and rubbed his arm, as if nursing an injury. "You hit pretty hard."_

"_I hope so!" she squeaked, seeming quite proud of herself. "My uncle and I watch wrestling together all the time! Sometimes he even shows me some of the moves they use!"_

_Mail squinted his eyes and gave a thumbs-up, looking surprisingly animated. "Tha's cool, yo! Like, friggin' epic to the max!" he tried to up his cool-stats, though some part of his mind kicked him for trying too hard. _

_If Linda had been aghast by his efforts, she didn't show it. "Yeah," she continued, furrowing her brow and crossing her arms over her chest. "But I don't have all the cool clothes that the girl wrestlers wear, and my chest isn't nice to look at, so… when we get naked, Uncle John usually…-" She didn't get to finish her tale, for something had sparked in the vibrant green eyes that watched her._

_The boy's breath hitched and he firmly gripped her shoulders, guiding her to the couch and forcing her to sit down. He looked deeply into her eyes, searching for something. He frowned and lowered his head. His voice was calm as he spoke, but his grip on her shoulders tightened and his body trembled. "Linda… you're pretty. You're hair looks nice, even when it's a mess. Your freckles make me unashamed to have freckles. You're the tallest girl in our class, which is cool because you cream everyone when we play basketball. Your chest is fine… not that I've been looking. And… your eyes… are so pretty; they look like the little plastic gems on your necklace." He made a small gesture to the beads around her neck, and when he finished his little rant, he slowly lessened his grip and his arms fell slack at his sides._

_The girl's face was flushed; her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out._

"_Linda, I'd like you to spend the night with me. I'll call and get permission. So… while I do that, why don't you go look through my games and pick which one you want to play?" As he spoke, Mail had phrased his words like a question, though he was essentially telling her to go occupy herself for a few minutes._

_Still speechless, she nodded, slipped off the couch, and walked to the redhead's bedroom, where she would trip over various wires from a collection of consoles before sorting through a rather copious pile of games._

…

Bright Eyes awoke with a start, his ears flooded with the screams of his blonde companion. "It's okay, Mihael. I'm… I'm here," he frowned, looking at the blonde who howled and writhed in pain before him. He wasn't too sure why he'd had such a vision, though he was riddled with anxiety and he couldn't keep the little girl and boy from his mind, even as he helped the injured teen to another dose of pain meds. "It's… gonna be alright," he found himself saying, repeating this one phrase four more times over the next few minutes.

A haze of blue became visible through half-raised lids. "Br-Bright Eyes," stuttered the blonde, with a voice that wasn't quite his own. "D-Don't talk like tha-at. It… makes you sound… like a p-pussy."

And the redhead smiled. "Same ol' Mello," he said in a peculiarly fond voice, reaching his own hand to grab his companion's, but he stopped short when his fingertips brushed bandages. He slowly removed the bandages on each hand; he looked at the bullet holes in each hand and found a sense of remorse for his actions. He recalled the damage done to his own hands and felt his eyes get wet behind the lenses of the goggles he wore.

Bright Eyes re-opened the Med-Pack and methodically tended the injury. He cleaned the blood, disinfected, and began to stitch the wound to the best of his ability; then he wrapped and secured fresh gauze, being as gentle as possible, but when the blonde hissed and flexed his fingers, green eyes widened and he retracted his hand, instantly reminded that steel plates had subjected him to further monstrosity. He turned his gaze to his lap and wrapped his arms around himself, looking for a consolation that could not be found.

Even when he tried to help someone, he hurt them. Why? He used to be so normal, right?

He forced himself not to cry, stiffening his muscles and focusing on the ache that came when everything locked up and needed to be unkinked. He got to his feet and paced the floor.

…

With the aid of medication came the blessing of sleep for Mello, leaving Bright Eyes alone to wallow in his confusion and misery.

His memories failed him, and in place of them, his mind was riddled with visions and voices; they mocked him, and though he wouldn't openly admit it, he was frightened of the plausible relevancy they might have held.

He took a deep breath, steadying nerves that were beginning to make him itch with an assortment of pain and bewilderment.

The shiny metal casing of a Med-Pack caught his attention and he noticed his reflection in the surface. Everything seemed rather out of place.

The messy red tangles that framed his face, far too normal for the beast he was. The green eyes hidden by orange lenses meant for someone else –they were hardened with an experience no juvenile ought to have. The flesh that was filthy and splattered with red, holding the slightest spread of freckles beneath the grunge; the blood made him feel at ease; it reminded him of his own capabilities, but the skin beneath was too… human. The grim mixture of dirt and blood that caked his fingernails and knuckles –it made him feel strange; he subconsciously wished to rid his fingers of the filth. The way the steel plates ribbed the skin of his hands –that still took his breath away every time he looked at it.

Every bit of those traits made up the way his entire self just urged him to go, even if he knew he'd fail; all these things completed the redhead and made him a perfect blend between a man and a monster. And he vaguely wondered if Mail might have anything in common with him, aside from the unsightly red mop that was his hair and the strange connection with a trivial companion.

…

_The Convoy would forever weigh on his mind. The first few days were naught but a bout of prison-like confinement. Then came a day of reckoning when things were explained and they all received their first taste of violence. Bright Eyes had stolen the tags Mello had earned by showing his own ruthless fighting skills and gaining the green-eyed youth's mindless adoration. The following day, in the Mess Hall, Bright Eyes was on edge, trying to keep close to those with whom he shared a cell; he couldn't fight, and he wasn't strong._

_Without the ability to use his hands, he was weak and helpless; this exercised control over his own humility, forcing him statistically lower than the man who'd caused him this grievance. And for that… Kira really was his God. And this God knew no mercy._

_Knowing that he wouldn't make it alone, he concealed his injury as much as possible, making small talk and gaining the trust of many companions in hopes to have his own beatings and brawls few and far between._

_Handbooks were given, and Bright Eyes studied religiously, his mind absorbing and memorizing every word and his heart beating faster as he grew to understand the system of currency and how he could obtain medical assistance._

_Realization gave birth to hope, and the manifestation of this hope showed in his upcoming actions._

_Since he'd already begun to con his fellow trainees into helping him, he plotted to take it a step further by stealing their tags right out from under them. The idea was simple enough, but imagine his surprise when he reached for an unattended pile of tags and heard a grunt of disapproval._

_His eyes as, wide and bright as his name suggested, quickly found the source of noise; it had been none other than the tyrant who had pummeled his way into victory beforehand –it was Mello._

"_Thief. Cheater." Mello said judgmentally, snapping off a large piece of chocolate; it had been awarded to him in place of the rejected tags._

"_You don't understand," countered Bright Eyes. Held up his bandaged hands and clenched his teeth. "I… can't fight. I'm not like you."_

"_Pussy."_

_The green-eyed youth gasped. "Wha? That's not fair. You don't know what I've been through." He looked at his hands and sighed. "I… need these tags. If I can get enough, maybe I can be fixed."_

"_At the cost of losing people who trust you? Is it worth it?" asked the blue-eyed boy. He didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Either way, I'm leaving anyways, so what happens to you isn't any concern of mine."_

_There was silence. Then: "How are you getting off the Convoy? Where are you going? Don't you want to serve God?" He fixed his emerald gaze and found himself staring into deep oceanic orbs._

_The other teen looked thoughtful before turning away, lacing his fingers behind his skinned head and giving a sly smirk. "I serve God every day. Even if it doesn't seem like it. I believe, and I pray, and I repent. God knows that I will only do what I have to in order to survive and protect. As for where I'm going? I'm going anywhere that isn't here. Don't really care where that is; I'm resourceful enough. And as for how I'm getting off…" His words trailed off and he chuckled darkly, finding humor where there ought not to be any. "You're going to help me, and in turn, I'll make it worth your while."_

"_What are you talking about?" asked the green-eyed youth, curiosity getting the better of him as he approached the other teen._

"_I'll show you if you stop being a puss-puss and help me out tonight."_

…

_**-Scene Change:**_** In the Southern Wing-**

The Commanding Officer of the East and the Westie who promptly juggled the title of Second in Command, had formed a successful Unit, easily breeching the South and hiding amongst the shadows.

A signaled PennyBandit and gave a nod. "We move on my command," he drilled, eyeing the outstretched conduit that affixed the Southern sanctum.

The female soldier affirmed, though her breath hitched when something in her peripheral vision pilfered her attention. She snapped her head and looked directly at an offending object, silently urging her male counterpart to do the same.

The sight they were greeted with was a haunting one. A mere twenty yards further into the South lay an illustrious helmet, faded purple visible beneath the blood stains and bullet holes.

A grit his teeth but otherwise kept a firm resolve. "Man-up, soldier," he directed, focusing on the path that would lead them further into enemy territory.

"I ain't no bloody feminist or I'd have done ripped that head off your shoulders." Her tone was suddenly cold. She forced her gaze away from the helmet, though it took quite a bit of willpower not to run out into the open and retrieve said helmet.

"Don't be such an ice-queen. Let's get going," he withdrew a nifty little Beretta Storm 9mm, mentally wincing at such a small gun; he preferred bigger ones; he liked getting his shoulder fucked by the kickback of a shot, and he loved the weight of it in his hands, but… this dinky little made him feel like he was holding a toy, even if it was efficient enough for what he needed. He also pulled out a crafty push-dagger and secured it between his fingers; the simplicity it offered almost made him grin, but he pushed his mild excitement aside as he dropped to the ground and proceeded to slink further into the South, his chest barely an inch from the ground as he drug his elbows and knees against the damp surface of the ground.

PennyBandit watched him crawl and rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot sometimes, y'know that?" she spat, keeping upright making a run for it, leaping like a gazelle over A and heading into the Sanctum.

Two Southern troops emerged from hiding and gave chase to PennyBandit, but A held his position and shot them in the back of the head, one at a time. Blood and brain matter exploded on contact and bodies fell to the ground. Then he got up and followed the female Westie. "Don't be hasty," he barked at her. "It's dangerous."

At that, she flashed him a crooked smile. "I can afford to be hasty if I want; you've got my back, and you're a fine legionnaire. Now… quit making me compliment you and just cover my ass." She walked over to Dizzy's helmet and picked it up, examining it thoroughly. "I'm not leaving Dizzy's helmet. And when we find his body, it's coming too. No man of mine gets left behind."

A quirked a brow. "Dizzy's a soldier of the East. He's my man, _not yours_. And you're not even in charge of the West, so why the hell do you act like it?"

She opened her mouth to retort, but the sound of footsteps pierced their ears. "I don't owe you a damn explanation, now let's move, dammit!" she shrieked, slapping on the bloody helmet and grabbing a wooden plank from a copious pile of scrap; she raced further in and stopped short, eyes wide.

A was right behind her, gun in one hand and push-dagger in the other. He caught up to her quickly and was surprised to see the Sanctum already littered with the bodies of Southern troops. "Someone else bears a grudge against the South, and whoever it is must've beaten us here," he said, stating the obvious as he stepped over a corpse.

PennyBandit nodded slowly and proceeded to look them over, trying to see if Dizzy's body could be found amongst them remnants, but there was no such luck. "Oh, Dizzers, where are you?" she found herself asking, heading further in and dropping the board along the way.

A closed in close behind, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back a few steps; he hugged the wall and gestured for her to do the same. She complied wordlessly and they heard the sound of heavy boots scuffing along paved tarmacadam. Voices reached their ears seconds later.

"I'm serious, dammit! I'm going to keep killin' these punkass friends of yours 'till ya learn your place, got it?" The harsh voice was that of a female, and the words were punctuated with the crack of a whip, followed by a groan of pain.

With labored breathing came poetic quotes. "_When I consider everything that grows; holds in perfection but a little moment -That this huge stage presenteth naught but shows whereon the stars in secret influence comment; When I perceive that men as plants increase, Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky, Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, And wear their brave state out of memory," _the quoting of Shakespeare's 15th Sonnet went unfinished as the whip sounded again, followed by a cry.

"Stop talking like that! I don't understand a word of it! Your friends are mostly gone; must I dispose of the rest of them to gain your cooperation? Or are you gonna…-" The female was interrupted by continued quoting.

"_Then the conceit of this inconstant stay, Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Where wasteful -Time debateth with decay: To change your day of youth to sullied night, And all in war with …-_"

Another blow of the whip, and another yelp.

"One more word and I'll pack some C4 and blow the entire Crater, along with everyone in it!"

And still, more quoting came, the last line flowing with a fixed tenacity. "_Time for love of you- As he takes from you, I engraft you new._"

"Dammit, Virus! Why must you quote that jargon? I'm offering you the chance to save your friends, and you're blowing it!"

"You… hurt Dizzy. How can I help you if… you've already damaged your bargaining chip?" Virus' voice was so weak and raspy, but it held a strong conviction like no other, as it always seemed to –especially when the moment was bleak.

…

A and PennyBandit could hear the conversation clear as day, but from their position, they couldn't see a thing.

The Westie grit her teeth and lurched forward, a stealthy hand claiming a Ka-Bar utility knife from a clever sheathe, though A held tightly to her opposing arm, easily preventing her advancement. "No," he whispered. "I hear it too, and I'm pissed… but this is no time for bull-headedness. We have to focus. We need a plan. We don't know how many men remain stationed there."

Reluctantly, PennyBandit slumped against the wall and lowered her head. "I just…" she inhaled sharply. "Those boys –Vire and Dizzers –are like family. And… I've lost enough family over the years. Mom was lost in a fire, and dad had a car accident on the way home from work, and then I was taken to be Initiated –all on the same day." Her volume dropped so low that A, as close as he was, could barely hear it. "I wasn't even 15 yet. I had a few months left, but… " Her breath caught as she closed her eyes and, for the first time in a long time, she looked like the 17 year old reject she was, rather than a complacent militant. "I serve Kira, but… he's not right in the head. My firm belief is that life… should be about more than shooting, stabbing, and first aid… Did you know that he drafts people early if they lose their parents? I saw a nine year old die on the Convoy. Do you think a real God would allow that?"

A said nothing, his gaze lingering on her tempered features, taking in her trembling lips, soft cheeks, and crying eyes. The hand he had on her arm released its hold, sliding down to rest on her waist; he pulled her flush against himself and leaned his head on hers. "Man-up… soldier," he said in an unusually sympathetic tone.

"It's not right," she whimpered, bringing a fist up and weakly pounding against A's firm chest. "I lost my mom and dad, and then I got Mutilated. And now Dizzy and Virus are…-"

A longed to say something comforting to the woman, but words failed him. He wasn't good with this sort of thing. He wasn't much for people. He cared, yes, but all he was good for was barking orders and charging into battle. Even his strategies were thrown together by the Tactician rather than himself. How was he supposed to help an emotionally-wrecked companion? Subconsciously, he craned his neck and his lips inched closer to hers.

But whatever intimacy had been gained through the tears, words, and physical closeness was easily lost upon the sounds of footsteps rapidly approaching.

"Bah, if Virus won't do as I ask and sell out the battlement tactics of his fellow Crater-dwellers, I have no choice! I'll have to contact L and blow the place up!" The voice was that of the woman who'd so angrily conversed with Virus; she unwittingly trampled right passed the intrusive duo, bloody cat-o-nine-tails whip in hand. She was flanked by one… two… thee…- A grand total of 16 Southern troops.

"V-Vaccine," squawked one of the men. "You're going to blow it all up? What about the soldiers? Some of them are good men and women; they don't deserve it. And… isn't Mihael amongst them? We can't leave him. I think he's in the East. When the North apprehended him, we went to retrieve him, but he was already gone."

The woman, presumably named Vaccine, scoffed at the soldier. "I am the Commanding Officer here. I've been undercover for nearly two years, grabbing every damn Crater-dweller by the balls and showing them who's boss. I run the show here. Me –no one else. And besides, L doesn't need his little golden boy: Mihael; the kid was dead weight. We'll just say he didn't make it passed his first day."

"But… what if…-" the nagging soldier was quickly silenced by a kick to the groin.

"STOP TALKING!" Vaccine wailed, offering a crazed smile afterwards. "Remember why we're here. Generations ago, the ever-famed BB walked the soils of this very bunker, tearing into the flesh of the masses and loving it… all in the name of peace. His intent: opposing Kira! Years have passed, and now it is our turn. In the name of BB and on the command of L, we are going to destroy any evidence that The Crater ever existed! And then, we do the same to the Convoy. In time, Kira's army will be reduced to nothing, and then the Great War will really begin. L will be able to move more freely, and Kira won't stand a chance!" Laughter spilled from her lips and her comrades nervously joined in. She continued her exit, and her display of mirth halted as she sneered at two considerably injured soldiers towards the back. "You! Gevanni and Halle! Stay and guard the damn Tactician and his unconscious friend."

The dark haired male's eyes widened. "But, you're gonna blow everything up, aren't you? Why do you want us to stay?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he understood.

Halle crossed a set of bandaged arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. "This is a suicide mission. You want us to stay while you leave. In the end, I suppose you'll be the only one walking out of here alive."

"Oh, you're as good as dead anyways," droned the superior. "After your little brawl near the Centers, you're practically worthless. So, take one for the team, will you?"

…

Vaccine and her boys had finally gone, and the two intruders hurried to the back room, where they were instantly greeted with the sight of four individuals. Two injured Southern troops, Gevanni and Halle, were in the process of untying a tightly bound green-haired soldier from a wooden contraption meant to hold him in place and prevent his escape, even though he hadn't the use of his legs –a cruel sort of irony. And the final person in the room lay on the floor, face-down, blood smeared across a small-ish frame and baggy clothes.

A instantly readied his push-dagger, and PennyBandit tightened the grip on her Ka-Bar knife.

Gevanni noticed the two of them and held his hands up in a show of surrender. "Relax, we're done. We're getting your buddies out of here."

Halle struggled but managed to help Virus down; she held his whole self in her arms with surprising ease. "Our Commanding Officer has gone mad. We need to gather as many troops as possible and evacuate."

PennyBandit only half heard them after the confession that they meant little harm. She dropped next to the body on the floor and carefully turned it over, smiling sadly at the banged-up face of none other than her Dizzers. She was relieved to find that he had a strong pulse; she grabbed his arm and got up, hauling the body with her. "I've got you, Dizzers," she declared.

"P-Penny?" tried the green-haired cripple. "D-Dizzy came for me. He… shouldn't have. I… I never wanted him to get hurt. I wanted him to get out safely. I wanted him to travel and see all the things he's only heard about in the stories I've told him."

"I know," assured PennyBandit, looking over to A and finding an odd sensation of heat in her face; she quickly averted her gaze.

Gevanni rolled his eyes at everyone's sappiness. "You can have a happy reunion later. For now, Vaccine is going to blow The Crater to bits, and we need to gather everyone we can and get the fuck out of here!"

"No," said Virus, his voice unnaturally strong and determined for someone in his condition. One of his eyes were swollen shut and the joint in his left elbow was bent at an odd angle, surely broken. Blood and cuts coated the majority of his body, and his clothes were more holes than fabric.

"No? Then stay here," said Halle coolly, dropping the cripple and shoving past the small group in the room. "I'm not going to die today, that's for sure." She left quickly and silently, not even sparing a glance back to Gevanni, her own favored companion.

Virus didn't even seem to register that he'd fallen to the ground into a crumpled heap. He simply explained his choice rejection in the same commanding voice he usually had. "No, we're not going to leave The Crater. Too many people will die. And I have a policy." He opened his mouth to declare said dogma, but he was beaten to the punch.

Both A and Penny spoke in unison, knowing his words well enough. "No man left behind. On the field or in the Wing. All bodies, alive or dead, must be accounted for."

"One of the reasons I actually started paperwork," added PennyBandit.

Gevanni looked at the crippled male and sighed. "As much as I hate risking my own skin here, I agree. But how can we…-"

Virus interrupted, sunset-colored eyes blazing in determination. "There's a hidden radio tower. In the South. Nearby, actually. Use it to call for any and all able-bodied troops from the East. From the West. And even from the North. We'll gather near the pier and put a stop to Vaccine and her plans. She won't blow up anything until she's indemnified herself."

There was a small rouse of slurs and murmurs amongst the group.

Virus continued. "I think I have a plan, but it'd help if I had my…-"

The Commanding Officer of the East ran a hand through his shaggy black hair and smirked. "Your notebook? This notebook?" He produced said book he'd gotten rom Dizzy a while ago and offered it to his Second in Command.

In a flash, Virus flipped open the book and pointed to hand-drawn maps, easily pin-pointing their current location as well as the location of the radio tower, the pier, and the few sections of the bunker they were likely to find troops willing to help.

"A, head to the tower. Now. Penny, take Dizzy to safety. Somewhere West. Gevanni, head to the pier, and pick up as many troops as you can along the way."

A nodded and quickly raced out of the Sanctum, intending to do as his Tactician said.

PennyBandit smiled at Virus. "I've got this, Vire. I'll take him to the Oasis. I have Bright Eyes and Mihael there. We'll be fine, so don't worry."

Hearing this, Virus frowned. "Take care, okay? And keep an eye on Mihael. He's not a Kira-supporter, and though Vaccine doesn't like him, she and Mihael work for the same guy –he goes by the name: L."

The female Westie nodded dismissively and began to haul Dizzy's lithe frame out, making a necessarily slow exit.

"Gevanni," said Virus after watching PennyBandit leave. "I need you to go. Now." He closed and handed his notebook to the dark haired male. "Take it. You might need it."

"Sir? Virus of the East? What are you…-?"

"Take it. You might get lost. Or forget what you're doing. Just do as we planned and hope for the best, soldier. And… leave no man behind. Do that for me. Because I'm not going to make it any further."

Gevanni wanted to say something to the Eastern soldier, but no words came. Instead, he clenched the notebook in his uninjured hand and gave a half-salute with his damaged one; then he was on his way.

Then, finally left alone, the green-haired soldier buried his face in the crook of his good arm. A stifled sound escaped. "I guess… this is really it. I've had a good run, but… all I can do now is hope for the best and pray that they end up safe." He curled himself up into a pathetic heap and waited for his life to end, but not before turning his gaze upwards and asking: "What was the point? Where's this newfound peace Kira promised? All I wanted was to make my parents proud and be a good soldier. And when I accomplished that, I wanted to protect my fellow mates. That's not so bad, is it? I… I wanted out of this place… so bad… But… I couldn't. If I'd have left, who'd have been there to mourn Bucky's death? Who'd have been there to walk Serotonin to the pier when she was _allowed_ to leave? And who'd have laughed at Demo's poor jokes or taken a bullet for PennyBandit? Who'd have gone out of their way to keep Dizzy safe, sending him on the easy missions and allowing him only the slightest bit of combat? Who'd have been there for everyone?"

He lay flat on the floor and weakly pulled himself with one arm, making his way to the other side of the Sanctum and forcing himself to sit in an upright position, his body leaning against the wall at an awkward angle.

"What will they do...? I only wish them to be safe. Why didn't we get the peace that this God offered us?" he yelled, throwing his damaged fist against the wall. The energy he had was draining, but he forced himself alert, as any good soldier would do…

His mind wandered, but how could it not.? Caught between worry and despair, thought caught up with him and raced on figurative legs that could only serve to mock.

His young face twisted and he spoke the words that came to mind, reciting perfectly, as he always did. "_Hear the tolling of the bells- Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, how we shiver with affright at the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats from the rust within their throats is a groan." _His voice was strong once more as he continued, knowing these words inside and out, loving all literature, even if it seemed against his soldierhood._ "And the people –ah the people-they that dwell up in the steeple, all alone, and who tolling, tolling, tolling in that muffled monotone, feel a glory in so rolling on the human heart a stone- They are neither man nor woman- They are neither brute nor human- They are Ghouls:.._."

The strong, resolute voice faltered and failed with the realization. He wanted nothing more than to cast Kira into the fiery pits of Hell, and then throw himself to the same fate. Kira wasn't God. Whether there was a God or not, Virus doubted he'd ever know. But Kira was not that God. Kira was a Ghoul.

"_And their king it is who tolls_."

Sliding to the floor, Virus closed his eyes and let salty droplets gather on his eyelashes and drip down his bruised, cut and bloodied cheeks. He didn't register the pain of the salt running through the wounds. Letting his head fall back, Virus let himself cry for the first time in over eight years.

…

**-Scene Change: The Oasis in the Western Wing-**

'Mail Jeevas. I am Mail Jeevas.'

The words chanted in a sick mantra in the mind of a certain redhead.

He was a scrawny redheaded child. He was a boy that took shit from everyone because he couldn't fight back. He was a boy who desperately cared for Linda, though not understanding why the subtle curves she was developing excited him. And she cared so much, doing little things that alone, meant nothing, but together meant everything.

He was a soldier. A blood hound that lived for the fight and the kill.

He was a scrawny, pathetic redhead that took shit from everyone because he was too scared to fight back.

He was strong.

He was weak.

He lived to serve God.

He screamed and kicked to avoid being recruited by his God.

"I'm so confused..." he half whispered, half moaned. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, wanting nothing more than to sleep for days and days and maybe, never wake up. To never wake up... What would that be like, to never wake up?

To be haunted by his nightmares. By these memories. Did he even want them anymore? He had friends. A life. Parents.

Linda.

He loved Linda. He was supposed to meet her for lunch and confess his love for her and pray that she felt the same. He was supposed to hate Kira and all he stood for. Kira ripped him away from his life, from his family and from Linda. It wasn't fair!

He looked down at his hands in his lap. The scars... the ribbed flesh of the steel... He might have lived a different life if it weren't for Kira.

But Kira was God. Kira was God!

An incoherent mumble was heard from somewhere in the room, snapping Bright Eyes –no, _Mail_ –from his jumbled thoughts and unwelcome memories. He looked around to see Mihael sitting up, grimacing all the while. Mail stood shakily and poured some more pills into his hand, holding them out to the blonde. Mihael took half of the pills offered and washed them down.

"Don't you want all of them?" Mail asked softly, his voice lacking the usual cold apathy. Mihael shook his head while peering at the redhead through his frayed bangs.

"I can't afford to be out any longer. I shouldn't have taken the pills, but it fuckin' hurts. Now, what's wrong with you, Bright Eyes?"

The soldier hesitated. He tilted his head to the side while staring absentmindedly to Mihael's left.

"Well?" the blonde snapped. When his companion neglected to answer, he raised his hand and waved it before the dull green eyes. "Bright Eyes!" he called.

"_Mail_," the redhead said softly.

Mihael dropped his hand and tilted his head. "_Mile_? The fuck is that supposed to mean? Yeah, I know we got a long way to go to get out of here, but I don't…-"

"It's my name."

Mihael went silent, staring at the redhead whose eyes were glazed and distant.

"You... you remembered?" the blond asked, to which the redhead nodded. "How much do you remember?"

Mail looked away, seeming intently focused on the deteriorating wall. "I remember everything," he murmured in a voice that wasn't his.

Mihael heard the undertone of fear and confusion and thought it curious.

Mail sounded so lost. It actually hurt to hear the redhead sound so pained, though the blonde hothead would never admit to such a thing.

Mihael cleared his throat, raspy as it was. "Well, you can tell me about it later. For now, we have to go. One thing though... Mail? No offense to your parents, but what kind of shit name is Mail?"

The redhead in question shrugged. "I don't know. It was never explained to me."

"Well... I don't like it. I'm gonna call you Matt."

This captured the soldier's attention. He looked up and over at the blonde, a question lighting his dank eyes. "Matt...?" he asked uncertainly, letting the question trail off in the stale air.

"Yeah. It's a good name. You look like a Matt. I like it."

The redhead, instead of objecting and yelling like Mihael expected, simply nodded and murmured a jumbled response that he couldn't make out. Mihael jumped off of the table he was on and winced at the wounds. He looked down at the blood seeping through the bandages and cursed mentally, unwilling to ask for help. Fortunately, his question wasn't warranted.

"You! Blondie! Lay your ass down while I change your bandages and I don't want to hear a fucking word of complaint!" The strong female voice strongly contradicted the haggard girl stumbling through the door with a familiar figure in her arms...

"Dizzy!" Mail cried, shooting to his feet and gathering up the **catatonic** **(CV's lovable humor. XD)**soldier. He laid the boy down on a concrete bench and took the proffered helmet, strapping the purple headwear onto the teen's head and beginning the methodical work on the small but numerous wounds.

PennyBandit looked taken aback by the redhead's eagerness. She shoved Mihael back onto the makeshift cot and began rewrapping the bandages, paying close attention to her work. When she was finished, she looked up at Mail who was cradling Dizzy's newly helmeted head in his lap.

"Alright!" she barked, going into command mode. "Mihael, Dizzers and Bright Eyes!"

"_Matt_," Mihael interjected. "His name is Matt, _not_ Bright Eyes."

Penny blinked a couple of times, and then nodded. "Alright. Mihael, Dizzers and Matt! You're all coming with me. Some crazy bitch named Vaccine is planning to blow the place! We swing back and get A and any rogue soldiers that he's gathered and get to the pier."

"_Vaccine_? She's going to blow The Crater? Shit, I knew she had lost it," Mihael said.

"What about Virus?" Matt asked quietly.

Penny closed her eyes and drew a deep breath while Dizzy whimpered in mourning. "Virus was a good soldier," she said. "A good soldier and an even better friend. But he refused to let us bring him back. He will sacrifice himself for us to survive and we cannot take that away from him. Let us honor him in death for the exceptional man he is."

…

Newly dubbed Matt, the redhead held onto Dizzy as the Westie grappled for a better hold. Together, they carried the helmeted teen to the pier with Mihael in tow urging himself to keep up and vaguely glad for the medication that aided his movements.

Along the way, several nameless troops also trekked to the pier, being rather speedy and always keeping in Units of twos and threes and even fours.

There seemed to be un unspoken truce as everyone, allies and enemies alike gathered.

Before long, the ground beneath their feet rumbled, and in the distance, claps of thunder and clouds of smoke billowed from the buildings and posts and hills, explosions bubbling up and chasing after those who ran to the safety of the pier.

A was nearly out of breath, nearly getting taken down by a blazing screech of fire that he narrowly avoided; he caught up with his slowed companions and took Dizzy into his arms.

"Soldiers, let's move! Move, move, move!" he called, nudging them and nodding in approval as they picked up the pace; he flanked, making certain that they'd be safe under his watch.

They arrived at the pier with countless bombs bursting behind them; wild fires spreading slow and steadily.

"Now what?" squeaked the redhead, earning a number of curious eyes on him, though the peculiarity was shortly fixed upon, for they were in grave need of an escape route.

"Over here," called the familiar voice of Gevanni, climbing aboard a sturdy Carrier craft that had been docked behind the main port.

Though the dark haired man beckoned them, no troops made a move, though he paid them no mind and continued on his way, only to meet a kick to the face and a whip lash that followed.

"Vaccine!" cried A, PennyBandit, and Mihael in unison.

"I've got this," said the blonde.

"No, Mihael, you're injured," said PennyBandit.

"Wait, maybe he has a plan," reasoned A.

"I don't, but… I know Vaccine. I think I can…-" He tried to explain, but he was cut off by the booms of many more explosions. "Trust me. If you don't trust me, we're all going to die here. We don't have long left before the Crater is gone." He forced himself onto the Carrier and came face to face with Vaccine.

"Mihael, what happened to your pretty face?" Vaccine teased. "What would L think of his golden boy if he saw you right now?" She laughed horribly.

The blonde bit the inside of his cheek to avoid saying what he really wanted, but he did settle with a sort of forbidden truth. "You're not on L's side, and you never were. You're on BB's side, and not for a positive reason. You have interest in only killing! You monster!"

"They're on the same side," shrieked Vaccine indignantly. "I'm simply taking the more... active approach at achieving our goal."

"You're a blood-thirsty monster! BB wasn't so cruel in his ways!" He delivered a series of kicks to her abdomen in rapid succession, starting with a side-kick, followed by a front-kick and then a classic crescent-kick. The chronology of the blows caught her by surprise and she hit the ground, being stepped on and held in place by the blonde's weight; she struggled futilely.

Mello looked back between the Crater-dwellers and the roaring flames that had picked up speed due to the direction of the wind.

"This way. Come on," he said, seeming satisfied when nearly a few dozen or so strangers piled onto the craft, followed by his own companions.

"Good call, Blondie," said PennyBandit, looking over Dizzy's condition. "Where are we going to go now?"

Suddenly, every trooper on the Carrier looked to Mihael for an answer. A twisted smile found his face. "Well, that's easy. We're going to meet L. Under his orders, many of you will be rehabilitated and allowed to roam the streets and make a name for yourself. A few of us will remain with L and work to put an end to Kira's tyranny!" He ignored the mixed reactions he received for his speech and looked to a familiar redhead. "Matt… look." He gestured to the squirming Vaccine beneath him. "_This_ is what a monster looks like. There are many monsters on this earth, but _you_… are not one of them. Now, don't be such a puss-puss; come help me dump this bitch overboard."

…

* * *

**/Well? You know what to do here, don't you? Insert your thoughts, comments, questions, and opinions. Review!/**


	8. Rheostat

**Title:** Cinders in The Crater

**Summary:** Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DN. The plot and OCs are mine. Anything referenced is either owned by someone more respectable than I, or is purely a coincidence. That is all, thankyou.

**Thank My Beta: **THANK CATATONIC VANITY!

**Author's Note:** Alright, in this chapter, things settle down a bit… But, to keep you all entertained, CV wrote a surprise in the middle of this chappie! So enjoy, and thank her for her contribution!

**Author's Note II: **Not sure, but I think this is my longest chapter yet –w00t!

**Mine: **The Crater is mine. Dizzy, Virus, PennyBandit, Westie boys, Bucky, Serotonin, Demo, and Vaccine are all mine too. (So far, that's it.)

…

* * *

**Chapter Seven: **Rheostat

Mihael held Vaccine beneath his weight while requesting assistance. The redhead was by his side in an instant, not an ounce of hesitation fermenting at what they were about to do.

"You punkass bitch!" shrieked Vaccine, her long dark hair was threaded by a slight breeze that mingled with the angry black smoke that poured from the remains of The Crater. "I am on the side of Justice!" she crooned, kicking and flailing as the goggled teen grabbed at her, helping the blonde to secure her in an upright position. "I was going to destroy Kira's army! _Me_! No one else! In the name of BB and under the command of L, I was going to…-" her words went unfinished as the two youths guided her to the edge of the Carrier and pushed her over; she fell to the water with an unceremonious wail.

"She can swim, right?" asked the redhead a moment later.

"Don't care," replied Mihael. "She was a bitch anyways. She claimed to want to help L, but she was only on this mission because of L's relation to BB." He paused before walking over to a pile of cargo; he stepped up onto it like a pedestal and called for everyone's attention.

There had been idle chitchat between fresh cliques that had already begun to form, but it stopped on the blonde's command.

"Everyone, into the hull of the Carrier! Once everyone is present and seated, I will go over a set of rules. And… before you all go crazy and think this is going to be anything like the damn Convoy, I'll give you the first rule now." He paused and watched everyone's expressions; some looked anxious, and others look bored. He cleared his throat and boldly declared: "Absolutely, under no circumstance is there to be _any_ violence. Anyone who so much as makes a threat or raises a hand or weapon to someone else… will have to answer to me and risk being tossed overboard." He paused again before adding "And before you get smart and think you're going to just swim to safety, allow me to ask this… Where? Back to you precious fuckin' Crater? It's gone, and so should be your current animosity. We are not divided into sections and have no reason for attacking one another. Who you were in The Crater is _not_ who you are now." He paused before pointing and instructing, "Now, go. Get going. Into the hull."

Remarkably, everyone grouped together in a single file line and did as told, keeping silent and sparing the briefest glances at the teen who'd so easily stepped up to take charge.

A and PennyBandit stood beside Dizzy's unconscious form, unwilling to follow the masses.

"Blondie, what's going on? I want details. Give it to me straight," demanded PennyBandit, gripping and tugging lightly at her own dark hair.

"Long story," murmured Mello.

"We've got time," urged the woman.

A crossed his arms and gave a stern look to the blonde. "And even if you don't, you best be making time for the lady."

A light dusting of pink spread through PennyBandit's cheeks, but it was gone in an instant.

Mihael sighed. "Alright, I'll clarify everything later. First, just get to the hull of the Carrier and take a seat. I'll explain the rules and we'll watch an educational film. Then we'll just try not to kill each other until we get to our destination."

"Where are we going?" asked Matt hesitantly; that tone in his voice was still so strange compared to the one he had earlier.

"Leave it to me, Matt. Don't worry."

"What about Dizzy?" asked A, carefully picking up the helmeted teen.

Mihael sighed. "I'll find a place for him, don't worry. But for now, no more questions, alright?"

Once everyone was inside the hull of the Carrier and seated in quaint foldaway chairs, Mello waltzed to the front and instantly gained everyone's attention, seemingly followed around by an imaginary spotlight. "Alright," he announced, grabbing and pulling down a white projection screen. "So far, good job. No one's dead or bleeding. Let's keep it that way. Also, by the time you leave this hull, I want your weapons left behind. No one is here to hurt one another. If anyone pisses me off or breaks a rule or something, then I'll kick their ass and lock 'em up. How long you're locked up is up to me. It could be a few hours… or it could last the entire trip. But… if you get in trouble three times –or if you kill someone once, you're overboard, got it? Everything else should be explained on the damn film, so just… pay attention." He walked to the back and set up an old fashion movie projector, securing the reel and turning it on.

-_**film**_-

-Haggard music came through (as if sounding from an old record player) while a title screen and brief set of credits rolled.

-_Hello there, and welcome to an exclusive showing of: How To Get Along With Your Enemy. Starring: Mihael Keehl and Nate River. Scripted, directed, filmed, edited, and voiced over by: L_

-The title sequence finished and the shaky image of two boys came into view. The camera panned and zoomed until it came into focus.

- One child was an angry Mihael and the other was a meek-looking boy with large dark eyes and immaculate pajamas.

-A scrambled voice crackled: "_Child 1 and Child 2 do not get along. But there are rules to be followed. Simple rules that, if followed consistently, will allow them to cooperate peacefully_."

-On the screen, the frail boy picked up a plastic robot, and Mello quickly snatched it away.

-An angry beeping sound came next, followed by L's scrambled voice once more. "_We do not take what does not belong to us."_

-On the screen, Mello handed the toy back, a slight scowl claiming his features.

-"_However, it never hurts to share_," that voice again, disembodied but with disinterested authority.

-On the screen, Mello reached for the robot that _should_ have been offered, but the other child denied the sentiment, simply turning away. Mello's hands clenched into fists and he visibly struggled not to hit the other child. Instead, he settled for grabbing hold of the robot's arm and leaning close to the other child, whispering something nasty and then snapping the toy arm from its socket.

-Another angry beep, signaling bad behavior.

-"_We also do not threaten anyone… even if they do not wish to_ _share_."

-Mihael then threw up both arms, clearly exasperated. He made a wild gesture towards the toy-holding child and stomped out of the camera's frame. Seconds later, he came back, still looking miffed but taking deep calm breaths; he forced an agitated smile.

-L's voice came again. "_Next we will practice some proper greetings. It never hurts to be a bit courteous. Mihael and Nate, please properly greet one another_."

-On the screen, Mihael stepped aside, waited several seconds, and then approached the other boy; his brash expression was in place as he extended a hand and tried to be nice. The other boy pretended not to even notice, keeping focused on his toy rather than the scenario they were supposed to be acting out. Mello raised a fist like he was going to hit the other, but a set of hands grabbed him from behind and pulled him out of the frame.

-About a minute later, L's voice was back, still scrambled. "_We appear to be having some technical difficulties, but I'm sure you get the point by now. If you can't say anything nice, then you shouldn't say anything at all. Please keep your hands to yourselves. No hitting or kicking or using weapons. That said, I need to have a word with two actors, one of which needs to take a more active role and the other who needs to calm down… or else he's not getting chocolate_."

-(The video continued accordingly for another 30 minutes or so.)

-Outro music crackled through the speakers, accompanied by scrolling text: _Thank You For Watching. And Remember: Getting Along Is The Key To Success!'_

**-**_**fin-**_

…

The cheesy film ended and the projector was turned off. Many of the room's occupants were snickering and whispering amongst one another.

By now, Mihael's wounds were tolling him and he took refuge in an emptied seat. He pointed to a bin in the far corner. "I know it's a bit out of your comfort zone, but I want your weapons left there; I want no threats to be made; I want this trip to be as safe as possible." Even as he spoke with an air of authority he shouldn't have possessed, he didn't truthfully expect anyone to listen to him. After all, most of the _former_ Crater-dwellers were older than him; most were rather independent and would sooner slit a throat than obey an order, but… much to his surprise, more than half the population got up and, one by one, ventured to the bin and emptied their pockets, duffles, and rucksacks. The bin was filled –nearly overflowing with various guns, ammunition, knives, clubs, tasers, hatchets, bayonets, cordite, etc.

A took notice to Mello's fatigue and, running a hand through his hair, he left Dizzy in Penny's care. Once he got to the front of the group, he placed his fingers to his lips, giving a loud, shrill whistle. "Alright, ladies and gents, Mihael's the boss, got it? And if he wants us to behave like friendly little scum-diddles, then we will. Contrary to what he said, any and all rule-breakers will answer to me, and the punishment will be severe. So, for now, we will retire for the remainder of the evening, and in the morning we will assign daily chores for everyone. We will work together like a family. We will eat, sleep, and sweat together. We are one Unit and will function as such. Now… everyone, get your asses out of here, I'm tired of seeing your ugly faces, and ya smell terrible, so go. Move it, move it!" With that, A turned to the blonde antagonist. "You okay, kid?" he asked, his voice stern and detached but his face laced with concern.

Dizzy was carefully laid down, and PennyBandit and Matt were beside A and Mello in a flash.

"Fuck, Blondie, you need rest. Is there anywhere for you and Dizzers to lay down for a bit?" The voice was PennyBandit's; she had ashes and soot smudged on her cheeks, a small reminder of how recent was their departure from The Crater.

Mello shrugged off the question, though his teeth were subconsciously gritting together; he clenched his hands into fists and his muscles tightened.

"His meds are wearing off, and his bandages will need changed again soon," urged A, noticing the clear signs of pain. "Penny, can you help him?"

Mihael hissed at A's insistence. "The Carrier was supposed to be my ticket out of here. L thought I might bring two or three companions back with me, so he made sure to have this place stocked accordingly. So, honestly, we don't have the necessary accommodations for his many people. We might be in trouble."

The redhead had been hanging back, keeping to himself and shying away until this point. Cautiously, he stepped up and cleared his throat. "This is an old Aircraft Carrier, right? It's huge, so _space_ isn't the issue so much as food and supplies. We're on a boat… in the ocean… with tons of weapons and stuff, right? Well, amongst all the things we have available, I'm sure we can craft a few makeshift fishing rods and nets, and that would take care of our _food_ problem. Most people here are stocked up on medical supplies and stuff, so… if we avoid further damage to one another and focus on keeping safe and recovering, we should be alright, depending."

Everyone stared at the redhead, surprised by his rational thinking. There were murmurs of agreement before they began to discuss where to nurse the injured and how to divide the duties of getting food, navigating, and tending the upkeep of the Carrier.

…

**-Two Days Later-**

Approximately two days later, the helmeted teen's eyes opened to a blurry environment that eventually came into focus, clearing up and revealing a change in scenery. The first thing he actually realized was the constant adjustment in his vestibular sense; he was rocking, though he was not moving. He came to the conclusion that he was on a boat, and his surroundings confirmed just that. Next he noticed that he was lying on the floor, covered by a raggedy blanket; his back ached from the position he'd been in. Third, he caught sight of a familiar mop of red atop; his first thought was how excited he was to see Bright Eyes, but he quickly realized that the soldier was sleeping, so he kept his sudden bout of enthusiasm to himself. Slowly, he got up, feeling weak from his protesting muscles. His eyes scanned further and he noted a few others whom were resting similarly to how he had been, with a raggedy blanket or jacket covering their still forms.

Once on his feet and accustomed to holding up his own weight, he adjusted his helmet and looked over every individual in the room. When he didn't find what he'd been looking for, he walked over to a door, pushed it open, and continued out. He made his way to the main deck of the Carrier and was surprised to see several people he knew from The Crater –people who once hated each other –all gathered round and talking peacefully to one another. Some were fishing; one was kneeling next to a bucket of water and attempting to wash blood stains out of a pile of clothing; one was holding a compass and a map, trying to get his bearings and pinpoint their exact location; two were helping to keep track of supplies and decide how they were to be rationed; and others were either tending to some form of chore or simply relaxing –that is, if they weren't in need of the slight medical attention that could be provided.

This cooperation all seemed rather foreign, but that's not what caught the helmeted teen's attention most. No, what struck him as odd was… the lack of green hair amongst the throng of youths.

He noticed A, his own Commanding Officer; he was tempted to run up, hug him tightly, and ask what was going on, but… then he noticed PennyBandit. He thought of running to hug her as well, but the more he stared at the two of them, the more he realized their dopey smiles and red cheeks –the way he clumsily reached for her hand and the way she flipped her hair. He kept watching and saw the way her fingers brushed his forearm and the way A's hand cupped her cheek. They leaned close, their lips nearly touching… and Dizzy had to look away; he didn't feel comfortable with watching this. It was wrong; he was not going to spy on them.

Thankfully, he detected a familiar blonde sitting atop a rattletrap, wearing a pair of grey cargo shorts and sporting a bandaged torso; his hands were lightly dressed, mainly to lower the risk of infection; his fingers appeared to have gained adequate mobility. The wind caught his hair as he stared off into the awakening sun.

Dizzy approached, smile in check and own injuries completely forgotten. "Mello?"

"_Mihael_," the blonde amended, gaze never wavering from the serene setting before him. "Are you feeling alright, Dizzy?"

Dizzy looked thoughtful as he adjusted the strap on his helmet. "_Darwin_," he corrected in a light tone.

Hearing that, Mihael fixed his eyes on the other teen, greeting him with a small smile. "Alright, Darwin. I'm glad you seem well enough to be in good humor. You had us all worried."

Dizzy smiled coyly, turning, averting his gaze to hide his creeping blush. "Sorry!" his voice came out in a high-pitched squeak. "I didn't mean to worry anyone; I just wanted help Virus. He's… my best friend; he's family. I'd be devastated without him." He paused, flexing his fingers and gradually getting antsy. His toes curled and uncurled and nerves felt as if they were on fire. It took an insane amount of willpower not to start bouncing. Because… now was not the time for excitability. "Speaking of Virus, where is he? Is he okay? Did you get his chair? Can I see him?" He reached a hand up to push his ever-growing bangs out of his eyes, revealing large irises the color of lilac.

Mello saw the hope and excitement in those eyes; he saw the innocence and compassion that could not be contained. He took in the sight for several seconds longer than necessary before taking a deep breath and finally answering. "Virus… well…" he trailed off, unable to gather the words to tell the teen of his friend's expiration. "Here," he tried, taking a different approach altogether as he produced a familiar notebook; he'd gotten it from Gevanni the day before.

The notebook was faded and worn with three binding rings and a rather intricate V monogram on the cover. Though it was far from new, its condition was good considering its age.

Dizzy beamed at the sight of notebook. "That belongs to Virus!" he cheered, grinning and beginning to jitter in place; his teeth chattered and his hands clenched into fists, his arms shaking as he struggled to stay put. "Want me to give it to him? Where is he?"

Mello closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "No, Darwin. I actually got that book from Gevanni. And… I think it's supposed to go to you. I think that's what Virus had in mind… before he gave his life."

Hearing those words, Dizzy instantly grew still. His mind stopped working, not wanting to process what he'd heard. The light in his eyes began to fade; his shoulders hunched and his breath slowed. He looked utterly despondent.

"Darwin… Darwin? Dizzy? Hey, kid… it's gonna be okay." Mello hopped off the rattletrap and ignored the sting that greeted his wounds; he closed the distance between himself and the helmeted youth and firmly pressed the notebook into the other male's hands. "Dizzy, take it. Everything is going to be better. If it helps, Virus played a big part in our escape; without him, everyone would have died. Honestly, think of the future. Think of the peaceful world that awaits –a world without War or Kira. It's what he would have wanted, right?"

Dizzy's eyes trained themselves on the notebook. He thumbed open the cover and was greeted with a familiar cluster of words, handwritten with clever penmanship. With a shuddering breath, the youth read: _"No peace of mind for those who mourn; no sympathy for life in scorn. With love and lies that rights divide, we sever all from wave and tide. Battle comes before the War, and War before the peaceful lure – we trek with colors bland and bold, seeking happiness to hold. Blood in arms and tears down cheeks, we wither amongst the strong and weak. This field that binds us is a tomb: a cask of sorts for all too soon. Though death is rough and life is hell, remember this- remember well: Brothers we are, we hold hands and run, together we blaze beneath the sun…-_" With that, his voice cracked and he grew silent, save for violent tremors and heavy breathing. No tears, though he desperately wanted to cry.

Mello sighed and placed an injured hand on Dizzy's shoulder; with his other hand, he reclaimed the notebook; he flipped to the first page and read: "_My new name is Virus. I had my tonsils removed while I was awake; that was my Mutilation. The Convoy was hell, but I made friends; I just hope we can all depend on each other in the heat of battle. I haven't much time to write, but it seems necessary to document that: today is my first day in The Crater; it's Christmas –can you believe it?_"

Hearing this, Dizzy angrily flung a hand out to shove Mello away from himself before sinking to his knees; he didn't want comfort. He quickly smacked the notebook from the blonde's hands. Said notebook fell, hitting the ground and being crushed by Dizzy soon after; he'd dropped down and groped at it, holding it close and dry heaving, tearless and pained.

Mihael knelt next to the teen. "Dizzy, don't be like this. He only wanted to protect everyone, and he did. We should be glad he died doing what he wanted."

"Shut up, Mello."

"Dizzy, I thought I told you, my name's…-"

"I don't care what you said. You're Mello. You were on the Convoy with Bright Eyes. You jumped ship and tried to be a hero… just like L did years ago. And… under L's command, you came to The Crater. You were going to kill everyone, weren't you?" The accusation was harsh, but warranted. Dizzy's eyes blazed, a deep amethyst. He clutched the notebook tighter. "You were kind to me… only because I had this notebook when we met, right? You wanted it because it belonged to Virus: Tactician of the Eastern Wing. You wanted all the strategies that came with our battlements, didn't you? Well, this book is more than that! It's very personal to Virus, and even if he isn't around, I'm not going to let you get your hands on it!"

Mihael couldn't help but frown; the helmeted teen's words were not entirely false. "You're right. I did jump ship, just like L. In fact, I met up with L and agreed to help him oppose Kira in any way possible. My mission in The Crater was to see what our own forces were up against, but… things had changed."

Dizzy scoffed and scampered to his feet, backing up slowly and putting distance between himself and the blonde. "I don't believe you."

"Dizzy, look at me." He gestured to the numerous injuries he's acquired. "I fought on your side, didn't I? I risked my life to protect you and the others. Doesn't that count for anything?"

Dizzy looked at him long and hard. "No, no it doesn't. Virus is dead; I'm not even sure where I am. A and Penny are too busy with each other to even notice me. And… it's not fair."

Mello felt the muscles in his face twitch, wanting to pinch and pull and make him scowl for his distaste at the direction of this conversation, but he willed his expression to remain calm. "Nobody ever said life was fair," he reasoned.

Dizzy glowered. "Virus did. He always talked about how he hated violence but could never hate War. He always said War was simple; it was tactics and trading blows; it was damage and control; it was completely fair –each Unit would depend on one another for success, and yet, each individual needed to apply themselves accordingly. And though it's a harsh reality, War… is fair." He paused before hugging the notebook close and turning away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got things to do. And don't even think about touching this again. Virus poured his soul into this, from his little notes and memoirs to the tactics that kept us alive. And I don't want you to touch it." He was drawing heavy breaths when he turned away; his gaze swept across A and PennyBandit but he quickly changed his direction, sauntering away to a less crowded area. He found himself amongst three fishers and he joined them in their gaze into the water.

For a moment, the helmeted youth wondered what it would be like to just fall in. The small waves that rocked the boat and the seagulls that crooned their own sort of lullaby, it all came together so nice –so peaceful. He doubted Virus had met such a fitting end. Virus should have lived. He was young and strong. Even without his legs.

Virus was supposed to take Dizzy away from the New World. Virus was supposed to show him all the wonders he'd only dreamed of. Virus was supposed to be there for him… always.

As the teen gave in to his mournful thoughts, a voice graced his ears and mingled with his thoughts; though he tried to ignore it. He wanted to be left alone. Without Virus, everything just seemed so pointless.

"Hey, you're Dizzy, right? From the East? I'd recognize that helmet anywhere," said one of the fishermen, abandoning a makeshift rod and opting to make small talk.

Dizzy feigned ignorance to the other's existence. He set the notebook down and placed a foot atop, securing it so that it couldn't be taken. Then his hands deftly touched a familiar strap, easily tearing through the buckle and pulling off the helmet; he dropped it overboard and watched it float for a few seconds before an angry wave pulled it under. The deep blue waters swallowed it whole. He watched the slow descent until the distortion of purple was no longer visible.

Helmetless, he felt almost naked. Sure, he'd removed his helmet a number of times, but to permanently discard it, it seemed so disconcerting.

…

**-With Matt-**

Green eyes opened to the world, blinking away the bleariness that settled over his eyes like a frothy mist. His own injuries had already begun to heal and he got to his feet with ease. He quickly grabbed and pulled the goggles from his neck to his eyes, shielding shimmering emeralds from all who dared to look.

The redhead observed the teens that still slept; he noted how peaceful they all looked, and he felt a sudden bout of rage build within him. It wasn't right that he was forced to endure restless and fitful slumbers while they snoozed their problems away. In that instant, he wanted to sneer and curse and bare his teeth. He wanted to feel his fingers tighten around their throats; he wanted to hear ribs snap from the force of his foot colliding with their bodies; and he wanted to laugh at the sheer panic that would envelop, but… as quick as those desires surfaced, they pacified.

That sort of violence is something only Bright Eyes would be capable of. And he was not Bright Eyes. No, not anymore. He no longer wished to watch the artistic spread of blood as it seeped from a body. No. No more violence.

Then, for a moment, he wanted to just find a corner and go sulk, all by his lonesome. He wanted to be away from all the laughter and ridicule; he wanted to hide away and verbally snap at whomever dared to invade his comfort zone. Yes, that's what he wanted. Solitude, and maybe the comfort of one or two people. Maybe he wanted the comfort of a girl his own age –a girl like Linda, who would smile and make jokes and call him a nerd. He could listen to her laugh and feel delight at making her smile. And he would protect her… From the parents that didn't have time to raise her. From the uncle that molested her. And from the kids at school who called her mean names and poked fun at her. Yes, maybe he wanted this. Maybe he wanted to shy away from the world and protect only what mattered.

But then again, this is something Mail would want. And right now, this redhead wasn't Mail. No, not anymore. He could never go back to see Linda –or his family, for that matter. If he did, Kira would surely know, and nothing good could come from that.

So, who was he? What did he want out of life? He was not Bright Eyes. In fact, violence almost frightened him. He wanted to steer clear of it for as long as possible. But he was not Mail Jeevas either, now was he? He could never regress into such a naïve rebel-wannabe; he'd seen and done too much for that to be possible.

No…

He was Matt. Matt was a blank slate. Matt was a redheaded boy with torn clothes, no past, and nothing but the future to look forward to. Matt was someone special. Matt was Mihael's friend. And… ultimately, Matt… was innocent and free in all the ways his other personas never could be.

Coming to this resolve, he left the hull and wound up on deck. He looked around and noticed how well everyone seemed to be working together. His eyes landed on a particular blonde… and he smiled.

Then… blue eyes met orange lenses, and Matt shied away, raising his hand and wiggling his fingers in gest of a nervous greeting; after that, he stumbled back into the hull.

…

**(THANK CV FOR THIS PART! THIS IS ALL HER DOING!)**

Said blonde watched a purple helmet drop from where he sat. His eyes were trained on Dizzy, and he frowned, wondering what he could do to regain Dizzy's trust. Then he felt an intense stare molding into his back. He turned to find a familiar redhead watching him with a small smile on his face. A real smile that wasn't clouded by anger or sarcasm or bitterness.

The redhead waved shyly and turned, stumbling back into the hull. Mello watched his lithe form disappear into the shadows and felt a sudden wave of desire course through his body. Frustration and adrenaline coursed his brain and made his blood boil. He wouldn't deny that the redhead was amazing and exquisite in many ways, and the anger and turmoil he felt suddenly had an outlet.

Swiftly, he took to his feet, following the redhead. Thoughts of the redhead against a wall fueled him, morphing into images of Matt screaming his name and begging for more. He was suddenly keen on the idea of taking his angst out on someone, civil behavior be damned.

This led Mello to find and take hold of the redhead's arm, though he kept mindful of his injuries as he did so, dragging the other teen into a dark, secluded corner.

"H-Hey, what are you doing?" Matt was silenced by Mello crushing their lips together in a bruising kiss, pressing the younger male into the wall with an unanticipated callousness. He ground their hips together, making the redhead whimper into the kiss and buck under the sudden pressure.

Mello smirked and forced his tongue into the redhead's mouth, stunning the boy into submission. When he finally broke away for air, he sank to his knees and took Matt with him. His fingers used what mobility they had to undo Matt's pants and drag them down to pool around his knees. He turned Matt and pressed his torso into the cold steel, positioning himself between Matt's legs.

"M-Mihael... What are you doing?" Matt panted. He hissed when Mihael gripped his cock and tugged him into full awareness.

Mihael shoved three fingers into Matt's mouth and bit into his shoulder.

"I'm gonna fuck you. Now shut up and suck!" he commanded lowly. Matt obediently swirled the digits around his tongue and whimpered and purred around Mihael's fingers.

The horribly aroused blonde yanked his fingers away and placed one dry hand over Matt's mouth, shoving two saliva-slicked fingers into him at the same time. Matt whimpered and bit into the offered flesh, making the blonde behind him growl. Mello shoved his third finger into Matt's entrance, stretching and probing the flesh roughly. Matt whined and let his head fall back against Mello's shoulder, pushing back against the intrusion. There was something incredibly erotic about this.

Mello withdrew his fingers and undid his pants, freeing his own erection with a sigh. He wrapped one arm around Matt's waist and clamped his other hand down securely on Matt's lips. He pushed in with a powerful thrust, groaning against the abused flesh at Matt's neck. The redhead swallowed a cry and tried to relax, pressing himself against Mello. The blonde waited until Matt nodded, signaling the approval for him to continue.

Then the blonde _moved_. His hips snapped hard and fast, burying himself deeper within the tight heat with each thrust. Matt's cries quickly turned from pained to pleasured, and he started arching, meeting Mello's thrusts eagerly. The blonde grunted and buried his face in the back of Matt's neck, growling softly and thrusting harder. He took all the pent up emotion and aggression and released it on the willing body before his.

Matt threw his head back on Mello's shoulder and groaned against the hand that still covered his mouth, shuddering as a sudden orgasm overtook him. His hidden eyes fluttered and Mello reached up, yanking the goggles down and leaving them to dangle around Matt's neck. The blonde saw the dazed and lust-ridden green eyes staring blankly at him and shuddered at their depth.

Matt slumped forward, limp and exhausted, being held up by his autocrat's arm, which tightened around his waist and pulled him back into the erratic movements. The blonde grunted and laid his forehead against Matt's back as he slumped forward too; trembling at the power of the blinding euphoria that hit him as he completely filled the other teen.

**(Yeah, Thank CV for that! Things had been so tense lately, and this chapter was a bit more laid back than the others, so… I figured it could use something to spice it up a bit, and… what did I do? I asked if CV could do a bit of PWP for me, and she did! So… THANK HER!)**

…

It hadn't been the sort of passion one might read in a romance novel. There was nothing gentle or loving about it. No whispered sweet nothings or soft touches. It was pure, raw magnetism. It was hands, teeth, and a hard fuck. Nothing more, and nothing less.

When it was over and Mihael regained his composure, he fixed his clothes and leaned against the wall; Matt mimicked at a slower pace.

"That was…-" the redhead began, still taking labored breaths.

"That was nothing. No need to be a puss-puss about it. We're not dating or anything; it was just sex."

"That was…-" the redhead tried again, but Mello interrupted.

"Look, it was just a fuck. It was nice. Now, don't cheapen the moment with words."

With a sigh, Matt moved away from the wall and slipped his hands into his pockets; his eyes were trained on Mello. "That was…-" he let his words trail off, though he continued when blue eyes met his unshielded green ones. "That was my _first time_," he finally managed. With that, he pulled the goggles over his eyes and limped away, suddenly feeling claustrophobic and wanting to be alone.

Mihael watched him go, not entirely sure what he thought of it. Then, everything clicked into place and he groaned, thunking his head back against the wall. "Ah, fuck," he said, feeling his temples throb with the headache that formed. "I fucked up."

…

Matt perched at the edge of a chair; he was still in the hull of the Carrier, though he'd wandered into what appeared to be a Control Room of some sort. Everything was rundown and nothing was working. This aircraft Carrier was old and virtually useless, or was it?

Having had raw and animalistic sex only an hour ago, the redhead tried to occupy himself by tinkering with a few wires and circuits. In a matter of minutes, everything lit up and the mechs whirred to life. The radio fizzed with static, and the monitors blinked with charts, showing their coordinates. Seeing that he'd accomplished this so simply, he felt a surge of pride permeate his core, urging him to continue. He turned a few dials, pressed a few buttons, and spliced a few bare wires. Before long, almost everything was in working order.

He slipped a headset on and looked at a laminated sheet full of codes and serial numbers. He adjusted the radio until he heard voices. "H-Hey, this is…-" he glanced at the list of numbers and codes, "This is AC Number 4A109537, do you copy?" He tried to sound official, mimicking something he distantly recalled from an old film… back when things were easy and he was still a normal schoolboy.

The voices on the other end ceased for a moment before someone responded. _"AC Number 4A109537, this is NR 91. Copy that."_

Matt couldn't help but grin. He'd taken dead and lifeless technology and brought it to life, and now he was talking to… someone. But who? He cleared his throat and spoke again to whoever NR 91 might be. "NR 91, I'm situated at 39N and 129W; are you in position to tell me how long until I reach the nearest land mass?"

There was silence, followed by: _"Alright, I've pinpointed your location and, depending on the efficiency of your craft, I estimate that it will be approximately eight weeks. But there's a storm brewing. What are you doing so far out in the ocean?"_

Matt waited for a long moment before dodging the question. "That's classified," he said simply. "Thank you for your help. Over and out."

…

Eight Weeks –the equivalent of two months. What was he supposed to do for two months? There was no way the redhead would sit idly by and let life happen to him; that's something that none of his three personas would allow. And he wasn't about to give himself to Mihael so readily; though it had been nothing short of amazing, he'd gone through a lot of trouble to get the blood and cum stains out of his pants without being questioned on it. So, he was left with one other obvious option: waste away time playing in the Control Room; it was thought to be rundown and useless anyways, so he was unlikely to encounter anyone he wasn't in the mood to talk with, and if he was in the mood to talk to anyone, he could always radio NR 91.

And that's exactly what he did.

…

Over the next few days, A and Penny grew closer and closer; there was no personal space between them anymore and their lips had made contact a number of times. Dizzy could be found either staring blankly into the water's surface or hiding in a corner, clutching the notebook –sometimes quietly reading from said notebook.

_I saved another comrade's life today. In a couple days, I turn 18, and I'm free to leave. All I have to do is head to the pier and await my ride out of here, but… I'm starting to think that I shouldn't go. There are younger soldiers who don't fully grasp the concept of life in The Crater; they will surely die if I leave. With that in mind, I'm not going. If anyone asks, I'm 17 –old enough to have more experience than the new recruits… and young enough to stay. Yeah, I'll stay in The Crater –forever 17 –and I'll protect my men. The outside world will have to wait. All my dreams of being a literary scholar can wait. And my siblings… all eleven of them… they can wait too; they'll be alright. And one day, they'll make their own trip to this very Crater, and I'll be waiting for them._

Mihael was getting stronger, healing more and more by the day, and his activities on the Carrier were becoming more numerous. There wasn't a task on board he wasn't willing to help out with. He kept himself busy; he had to. When he wasn't fully occupied, his mind drifted to Dizzy and how he needed to fix the damage he'd done. He needed to let the kid know that he meant no harm; his plans had changed and he had no intentions on harming any more soldiers than necessary for his own survival. His mission had changed, and he'd grown fond of the troopers he'd been stationed with. But Vaccine… she'd lost her mind; things got out of hand… And Matt, _oh Matt _–Mihael couldn't keep his thoughts away from the redhead who gave his virginity to the blonde; there was something sickeningly priceless about it. The sex had been amazing, but… it was just that. Sex and nothing more. And the blonde hadn't even taken into consideration that Matt was still coming to terms with who he was as an individual; his mentality was in a questionable state.

Speaking of Matt, he was gradually becoming invisible. Vibrant red hair and stunning emerald eyes (too often hidden by those hideous specs), they were somehow blending into the background, becoming as commonplace as corpses had been in The Crater. When he wasn't blending in with crowds, he was either sleeping or seemingly disappearing. No one quite knew where, nor did most people care, but… it was noticeable enough.

Gevanni had approached Mihael once or twice, asking where the redhead had gone, to which Mello shrugged the question off, feigning nonchalance.

…

Another week and a half passed, and not much changed, though Mihael finally gave in to the urge to follow Matt when he disappeared. From a safe distance, he tiptoed after the redhead, into the hull and through a series of doors that seemed second nature to the pursued teen.

The blonde found himself surprised when he stealthily opened the final door that would lead him to Matt. He didn't know what to expect, but he sure as heck didn't expect what he saw. The dead machinery was live and active, beeping and humming to its circuit's content. And, amongst the lively tech, a redhead sat, slumped into a chair with a headset on –eyes closed and lips parted as he chuckled at something he might have heard via headset.

"NR 91, this is AC Number 4A109537, copy that."

"_We have been exchanging wit for a while now. Might there be something shorter I can call you? Granted, I don't mind what I've been using, though it lacks the sentiment you seem to hold in regards to myself."_

"You want… a name? I suppose… Matt. Just Matt. It seems to be what I'm going by these days. You know how it is."

"_No, I do not know how it is, but I shall call you Matt, and in turn, feel free to call me Near."_

Mello stood in the doorjamb, watching and listening in. His mind was naught but a clusterfuck of emotions at seeing this particular redhead act so casual and familiar with someone other than himself. But what did he care? It was no concern of his, was it? Matt was just some punk from the Convoy, a soldier from the Eastern Wing of The Crater. Matt was… no. That wasn't fair to say. On the Convoy, the green-eyed youth had been confused and injured; he had no memories to anchor on to when he was thrown into the hardships of training. He was _Bright Eyes_ then. And, the person dwelling beneath the surface, _Mail_, was someone else entirely –someone more perplexing but with supplementary grounds for litigation. And, at this very moment, the redhead was _Matt_, a person he had yet to fully understand and appreciate.

And yet, he'd taken something from Matt –something he could never give back. He'd wronged the redhead without meaning to, and yet… somehow… Matt seemed okay with it. There were no tears. No words of sorrow or disgust. No hatred for forcibly stealing that precious mindset. Nothing. Just indifference. And that is exactly what troubled the blonde most… because he'd done wrong: he'd stolen something that was not his to take, and now… it could never be willingly offered.

…

Still staring at Matt, listening in on bits of light conversation, Mello thought of turning away and pretending he hadn't found the redhead at all; he thought of ignoring this occurrence altogether, but any hope of that was put to rest when he found listless emeralds resting on his own aqua blues. Eye to eye, they stared at one another, neither saying a word for a small eternity.

"_Matt… Matt? Are you there? Do you copy? Is something wrong? Hang on, I'll zero in on your location and see if…-"_

"Near, don't worry; I copy. Everything's fine. Someone just walked in, so I'll talk to you later." With that, he flicked a switch, cut the connection and removed the headset; he set it aside and focused directly on the blonde. "Something wrong?"

"Yeah, we need to talk," answered Mello.

"'Kay, 'bout what, Mells?"

"First off, don't call me that. My name's Mihael; you know that. Second, who were you talking to? Is this where you keep disappearing off to?"

Matt sighed and kicked his shoes off to get more comfortable, slouching further into his chair and adopting a lazy expression. "You like the name Matt, so that's what you call me. Well, I like the name Mells; it suits you." He paused, observing the slight twitch Mello gave. "And it's of no concern of yours who I was talking to or where I go, but if you must know, yes, I've been coming here. I got this station up and running; and I've been radioing NR 91. There is no harm in it."

"He could be working with _Kira_," Mihael countered fiercely.

"He's not," protested the redhead, conviction wavering the slightest bit.

"You know nothing about him. He _could_ be working for Kira, whom undoubtedly knows the fate of The Crater by now."

"What makes you think NR 91 is a '_he'_?" Matt quirked, crossing his arms and arching a brow.

"Intuition," came the swift reply.

"_Woman's_ intuition?" Matt was teasing by this point, a small smirk etched onto his features.

"Don't start with me, pussy. Or I'll fuck you up."

"You sort of already did." The words were meant to be comical, though once they left his mouth, the redhead realized his error. The realness of the statement seemed to steal oxygen from the atmosphere, making it hard to breath. The silence hung between them like a tossed gauntlet, a one-sided challenge that was not meant to be made.

Matt's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, brows knitting together as he thought of his own words and the meaning behind it. Logically, shouldn't he hate the blonde for what he'd done? No matter how amazing it was, it was still forceful and demanding –_borderline_ _rape_! And yet, for trivial reasons he didn't quite understand, he harbored no ill will towards the blonde.

After some time, Mello opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He wasn't sure what to say. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the other, hating to admit that he'd lost their unofficial staring contest.

When it was apparent that their conversation wasn't going anywhere, the redhead got up and exited the Control Room, sparing no words to the blonde.

Once left alone, Mihael sighed in defeat, finally finding it in himself to whisper: "I'm sorry."

Heaving another sigh, he claimed the very same seat Matt had occupied. He grabbed the headset and secured it upon himself; then, looking over the controls, he flicked a switch, turned a dial and established a connection.

Static greeted him, followed by an apathetic voice. "_AC Number 4A109537? This is NR 91, do you read me?" _A pause, then… _"Matt, it's Near. Are you there? Come in –over."_

Mello recognized the voice, and he couldn't help baring his teeth and uttering a single word. "Nate." The name left his mouth like a dirty accusation.

More static, then… _"Mihael."_

Mello let out a feral growl, feeling wholly disgusted. He killed the connection and threw the headset off and into a nearby wall. He was angry… because he'd grown rather attached to the redhead over the brief time they spent together, and now Nate, his rival, whom he hated almost as much as Kira, had made contact with Matt and established some sort of bond –enough of one to cause him to laze about and talk freely and smile.

It pissed Mello off to no end. He had to make things right and put a stop to whatever friendship might have begun. He'd gone through hell with Matt, and he wasn't about to share the redhead with his rival. He neglected to pay attention to his apparent claim over the redheaded teen.

He got up and stomped out of the Control Room. He left the hull and came onto the deck, locating Dizzy and ripping the familiar notebook from his grasp. "You can have it back after you help me. But I suppose you won't help me 'till I make amends for what I've done. And I can only do that by explaining myself, so shut up and listen, Darwin."

Dizzy reached for the notebook, but the look in his eyes was that of a defeated child. He had no energy to steal back the notebook, nor did he have the willpower to protest.

Acknowledging this, Mello began his tale. "First, it all begins with a set of twins. L and BB. You know of them, don't you? They wanted nothing but justice. They wanted to put an end to Kira's reign, and they were not alone with their desires. They boarded the Convoy, plotting to take Kira down. Their plan was simple. BB would help L escape. Once gone, L would find a safe place to hide and begin to build an army to oppose Kira: the false God of this alleged New World in which we live. And while L did that, BB would move through training and into The Crater; he gathered the trust and respect of many soldiers and then began to slaughter the masses. Once his own troops were all gone, Kira caught wind of what was happening and ordered him to be eradicated. This is where Kira's woman came in. A whiney woman named Misa Amane. Now, Amane has a soft heart and couldn't' bear to see someone die, so she demanded the chance to take BB in as a pet."

Dizzy listened half-heartedly, empty eyes trained on the notebook; he wasn't fully absorbing what was being said.

Still, Mihael continued. "Misa was an airhead; but there is a code that even Kira cannot break. I'm not sure on how it works specifically, but he cannot kill her off, nor can he dismiss her. It is said that he beats on her mercilessly, though there's never been any proof. The woman is surprisingly loyal to him, but… she does defy him by taking in those he tries to have executed, and since he's bound to that code, he lets her have her way, unaware that this pet of Amane's is gathering rogue soldiers for his brother's underground army."

Dizzy frowned. "I know this. It has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me!" Mihael snapped. "Kira _thinks_ he's God. I worship another God –the _real_ God. Our father, who art in heaven. My God is one of mercy, and Kira doesn't like that. And, knowing that my fate would one day be at the hands of Kira, I took the initiative to find L and agree to join him in his conquest. I agreed to get on the Convoy when I was just shy of being old enough to be drafted. Why? Because if you join early, you are exempt from a proper Initiation, which means that I didn't require Mutilation first. I skipped straight onto the Convoy, made a name for myself, met Bright Eyes, and jumped ship. I returned to L with information I gathered on the Officers that worked the Convoy, as well as their methods of training everyone."

As Dizzy continued to obediently listen, Mello handed the notebook back, satisfied at the boy's cooperation.

"Vaccine was sent to the Crater to take control of one of the Wings. She controlled the South. She was supposed to gather troops that weren't so keen on supporting Kira, but she became a vigilante of sorts, taking matters into her own hands and fucking everything up. I came to The Crater afterwards, intending to check in with Vaccine and gather intel, but… things got out of hand. I…-"

"I forgive you," interrupted Dizzy. "At least, I _will_ forgive you… if you fight… only for the peace that Virus wanted."

And Mello smiled. "Consider it done."

"Now, wha'd you want help with?" Dizzy questioned, absentmindedly thumbing through the pages of the notebook.

"Dizzy, I'm glad you asked. I want you to help me understand Matt completely. And then… I want to make him understand me. Y'see… I broke his faith in me, I think, and I want him to trust me again. Because…-"

"Because you love him," concluded Dizzy, his voice firm with resolution.

…

Weeks went by, and nothing really changed. A and PennyBandit remained close, becoming nearly inseparable. Matt almost never left the Control Room, and when he did, it was only to eat or complete some remedial task. And Mello and Dizzy spent their time together, reading Virus' journal entries and skimming over his ingenious battle tactics; and when they weren't doing that, they were spying on Matt, plotting ways for Mihael to make things right –but there was little success in this, for Matt had only interest in the disembodied voice that greeted him through a headset.

Then, one day, it finally happened; Matt activated the PA system in the Control Room, informing everyone that the Carrier would soon be docked at a small port to the south of Tokyo Bay. And on the moors of Japan awaited a peculiar trio –one elderly man with a hat and trench coat; one man with black messy hair, bare feet, and loose-fitting garb; and one younger boy with white hair and pajamas. The three of them stood amongst scattered crates and forgotten cargo, watching intently as passengers discharged from the Carrier.

…

* * *

**/Dude, there ya have it. Sorry for the time-skips, but I needed to get these guys off the Carrier so I could bring L in! Also, I bet you didn't expect Matt to befriend Near without Mello's consent, did you? Ah, and the surprise PWP was a gift from CV, so thank her for it! In any case, this chappie is done, and I'll get started on the next one shortly, so for now… Review./**


	9. Idolatries

**Title:** Cinders in The Crater

**Summary:** Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DN. The plot and OCsare mine. Anything referenced is either owned by someone more respectable than I, or is purely a coincidence. That is all, thankyou.

**Thank My Beta (Co-Author?): **THANK CATATONIC VANITY! (She has been a wonderful beta, but… she's written a number of scenes and helped me to improve things that could have been disastrous, so… I'm not sure if I should call her my Beta or my Co-Author, but either way, she deserves a big fat THANKYOU.)

**Author's Note: **Sorry, but this chappie is a filler. Not a great one either. But the next one promises to be better. Just... get through this one, 'kay? I've already started on the next, and I can promise you the reappearance of BB, as well as the final answer on why Mail was taken to be Initiated/Mandated at only 13 years old!

**Mine: **The Crater is mine. Dizzy, Virus, PennyBandit, Westie boys, Bucky, Serotonin, Demo, and Vaccine are all mine too. (So far, that's it.)

…

* * *

**Chapter Eight:** Idolatries

One after another, Matt and the other passengers absconded the Carrier with Mihael in the lead. Dizzy tagged along close to the blonde, familiar notebook wrapped in his arms and clutched tightly to his chest. Matt dallied, hanging back and veering left to distance himself from the crowd, simply enjoying the solidity of his new surroundings. A and PennyBandit were side by side in the dead center of the group, hands occasionally brushing one another but never fully clasping. Gevanni brought up the rear, loaded up with as many duffels and rucksacks as he could carry, acting as a mule.

Three people were there to greet the itinerants. One was aged man with greying hair, a multitude of laugh lines, a trench coat and a hat; his posture was perfectly erect and he held a brief case in one hand and a camera in the other. Next to him was hunched over man with dark hair that stuck out in a wild mess of tangles and knots. Lastly, there was a boy that vaguely resembled a snowman, sporting nothing but white, from his skin to his clothes –his eyes were black as coal; in one arm, he held a toy robot, and on his head, he sported a headset; his free hand fidgeted with the transmitter.

The blonde grumbled an introduction, naming the trio, dubbing their names: '_Watari, L_, and… _Nate_;' the third name left a sour taste in his mouth, and he let his irritation show. He approached the odd trio, stopping in front of the dark haired male and offering a grin; his whole demeanor changed at the sight of this man. "L… These are the Crater-dwellers. As you asked, I gathered those that were willing to oppose Kira, and here they are." He swept his arm out in a regal manner and gestured to the populace.

The dark haired male, whom also sported lackluster eyes bagged by proof of insomnia, bit at his thumbnail and nodded slowly, eyes scanning the mass that stood before him. "I see…" He paused, dropping his thumb from his lips and turning his attention to the task of removing a piece of imaginary lint from his sleeve. "Well," he began after taking in the sheer number of people that had come from the Carrier, "I believe we will require a different mode of transportation. Watari, would you-"

"Consider it done, sir," spoke the elder gentleman in a British accent. "I will see to it that we have adequate transportation for the occasion."

The pale boy said nothing, not even when greeted by the scowling blonde; his eyes apathetically scanned over the surprisingly large group that Mello had delivered. Then he lost the little interest he had in the situation at hand and simply turned his attention to the toy he carried; he subconsciously adjusted the dial on the headset's transmitter once more, listening through the static. "Mihael," he spoke softly, "on the Carrier, you knew someone named '_Matt'_. I know because you intervened during a rather interesting chat I was having with him." He paused, eyes focused on the blonde with such a startling intensity. "Might I meet him?"

The blonde narrowed his eyes, already aware of Nate's desire to play mind games. He closed the gap between him and the pale teen and grabbed at the toy the other held; he tore it from Nate's grasp and tossed it aside. Then he gripped the albino by the collar of his pajama shirt and pulled him close; he whispered to his ear: "Listen here, ya sick fuck. Matt is _mine_. And there's not a snowball's chance in hell that I'm going to let him anywhere near you." He released his grip on the shirt and pulled away, smirking. "Good to see you again, Nate. Thanks for sharing your stupid fuckin' toy." With that, he turned away, stepping on and breaking the toy robot as he took his leave and began to explain the protocol that came with working under L, as well as their goals to achieve a better world than the one Kira had provided.

…

The elderly man, Watari, had taken everyone three and four at a time into numerous shops and service centers, purchasing t-shirts, jeans, ball caps, and small souvenirs for each of them. Everyone discarded their old clothes after changing into their new ones. Once they were all disguised as a group of American tourists, they boarded a bus and waited patiently to get to their destination.

After three long bus rides and a couple miles of walking, they ended up in a large office building just outside of Kyoto. Watari stood by the door and watched them all enter with L in the lead. Once everyone was inside, Watari followed and secured a series of locks, some were complicated electronic ones with scanners and keypads, and others were a little more commonplace and simple as thumb turn locks, deadbolts and latches.

Watari took pictures of each new arrival before fingerprinting them and beginning to profile them in great detail.

L stood with a pronounced slouch, hands in his pockets and one bare foot lifted to scratch the back of his opposing leg. "As you know," he began, voice soft and devoid of emotion, "I am L: brother of famed former Crater-dweller BB. I would like to take this time to affirm that all the rumors you have heard about him… are true. He did annihilate his own troops, but only because he wanted to put an end to the violence that had yet to come. And, yes, I believe he went about it the wrong way, but his intentions were noble, and he has accounted for his misdeeds." He paused and turned his attention to the elder British man. "Watari, might I…-?"

Before the raven-haired man could finish his question, Watari had abandoned his task of profiling and approached, opening his briefcase and revealing a number of delectable sweets.

"Oh, you must forgive my lack of hospitality. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask or help yourselves." His mouth was full as he spoke; then he licked the remnants of a sugary snack from each of his fingers before he turned away and walked off. "Come. This way. Out of the lobby and into the meeting room. We've much to discuss."

…

The next two hours or so were naught but discussing the destruction of The Crater as well as Kira's current plans.

"And, according to my sources, Kira is setting up variations of The Crater on each continent, intending to keep things running the way they've been. His army is growing, but so is ours. Also…" L was speaking, his voice was taking on a rather unique tone; it was still emotionless, but to someone who knew anything about him, a hint of disgust and anger could be detected. "Also… there was a rumor –a nasty rumor about Kira _Mandating_ a 13 year old boy. Unfortunately, after learning this, I lost contact with Miss Takada…"

While L ranted, a particular redhead sat in the back of the room, eyes wide and mouth shut. His body trembled with anxiety and his fingers curled into eager fists. Today was going all wrong. He was supposed to be happy to be away from The Crater and off the Carrier. But he wasn't. He stood, leaning against the wall and trying to gather his thoughts. He knew perfectly well what was being discussed. Hearing it surfaced his memories and made him slightly fearful. Yes, he'd been _Mandated_; Kira wanted him to take over when the time came, but… what did that entail? Could he escape the fate of becoming the new God? Would he be forced into it like he'd been forced into everything else? Why was everything so complicated?

Green eyes trained themselves on the hideous marks that could be found on the center of his palms. Ugly cross-shaped crevices that would never go away and would forever mar something that was once so immaculate. He hated the scars. He hated the disgusting way his fingers and knuckles were lined and grooved with steel plates. He hated feeling like a monster. True, there was once a time when that had served its purpose to help him survive, but now… what was the point? Every bit of his life seemed dictated by someone other than himself.

Growing up, he had to abide by his parents' rules as well as the strict limitations that came from school. Then came the day he was taken from school, and when he should have faced a traditional Initiation, he was saved by a blonde woman named Misa. She took him in, intending to keep him as a pet. And, now that he thought about it, he gathered that she must've been incredibly lonely, if not a bit foolish. He met the legendary BB, whom appeared to be treated rather well by the blonde woman. BB spoke to him about the Great War, and then helped him to fake his death and escape. But then what happened? Bright lights? Pain? Darkness? Yes, he'd been hit by a car and he slipped into a coma. Six months later, he awoke with amnesia and was labeled a soldier. He endured the process of being Mandated, having his blank-slated mind written upon with promises of glory and Godliness before having his hands destroyed. Then came the Convoy. Then The Crater. Then the Carrier. And now… _this_.

Everything. Every bit of his fuckin' life seemed to be orchestrated by someone else, as if pre-scripted and given to him: an actor of sorts. Life was a play, it seemed, and he was a performer, being watched and cheered and booed accordingly.

He wanted to be his own person, and he was tired of being manipulated and controlled.

Was he ever going to be in control of himself? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that the only times he actually acted on his own free will were: when he stood up for Linda; when he betrayed those he met on the Convoy in favor of obtaining tags to fix his hands; when he invaded the North and helped Mello; and when he hid in the Control room to talk to Near.

Not one of those actions did he regret. He did what he felt was right, and he would continue to forge his own path.

He took a deep breath; secured a set of lenses over his eyes, and slipped his hands into his pockets… just to avoid looking at the angry marks that caused too many emotions and memories to swell within him. And, for the briefest moment, he could hear it. The screams echoing off the steel walls of the Convoy. Screams and piercing sobs. The sounds of children vomiting after taking a life for the first time. The stench of blood and sweat. The searing pain that came from receiving a powerful blow from another trainee. All the violence and destruction and murder had tainted him, and there was no revival for his humanity, or so he thought. Then came his time in The Crater, and though his time there was short, he'd done so much.

The redhead could almost feel the familiar weight of a heavy duffle being hauled on his shoulder. He could almost see the sheer number of corpses, and he felt nauseous as he recalled the stench of burning flesh from the incinerators. His mind wandered, and he wondered just how many people he'd slain –How many children and teens and young adults would never get to go home… because of him?

His mind found the Westie Boys. He thought of how they tagged along with PennyBandit, helping whenever necessary and sneaking touches of intimacy and words of whispered kindness when they thought no one was looking. He thought of Virus, who had wished him a merry Christmas, though the holiday seemed almost nonexistent while living under such pretenses –and now, Virus was dead. Gone. And Dizzy was a mess. And…

And Matt hadn't even considered checking to see how the helmeted youth was holding up; he'd been too preoccupied with his own dilemmas.

…

Matt leaned against the wall and realized his body was trembling. When had this started? His nerves were shot and his head hurt. He looked around and found that he was the only person left in the room. Where had everyone gone? How long had he been so lost in his thoughts?

He pushed himself away from the wall and just looked around. It was so quiet, and his troubled mind didn't like that. In his ears, he could hear screaming. So much screaming. It wouldn't go away. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to forget the terror-filled faces of everyone he'd robbed of a future. He felt suddenly dirty, rotten, disgusting. He thought about his life as Bright Eyes, and he placed his fingertips to his own flesh, digging his nails in and drawing blood; the flesh-covered appendages lined with steel were surely leaving bruises. His mind was so full of confusion, and that horrible scream just grew louder.

He hated himself in that instant. He hated the weak and semi-rebellious redhead he used to be. He hated being Mail Jeevas. He loathed the bitter words that were forced into his ears by his cruel peers. He hated that he had felt so much for Linda and had to leave so abruptly. And he couldn't bear the idea that she might be with someone else at this very moment; she might have moved on and forgotten all about him.

He hated the long and grueling process of him morphing from Mail to Bright Eyes. He despised that he once believed in a God named Kira, only to find that his every thought on the matter was a lie. He hated the addictive feeling of someone else's flesh tearing beneath his fingers; hated that he grew to love the sounds of snapping bones and cartilage.

He still wasn't too sure what he thought of Matt, the person he was trying to be. Matt was his own person to some extent, but he was also the byproduct of a twisted past and an ambiguous future. All he really knew… was that he felt tormented. His monstrous hands ached to destroy, though his heart rejected the very idea. His mind and body were at war.

And that infernal screaming. He just wanted it to stop. Why wouldn't it stop?! He placed bloody hands to his ears and struggled to block out the noise.

…

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying with his back to the floor; his breath was labored and he found that his own mouth was wide open… and all that screaming had been coming from him. Realizing this, he placed a hand to his chest and forced himself to calm down. Once he composed himself, he sat up and placed his head in his hands.

Something was terribly wrong.

The sound of sock-clad footsteps reached his ears, though he paid no mind to it. He just wanted to curl up and die, but… he couldn't do that. Surely he had something to live for. But what? Not his family. Not Linda. Not Mello. Mello greedily took his virginity and then abandoned what means of friendship they had. So… what did this redhead have to live for?

"Can I help you?" came a soft voice with an apathetic tone.

"No," was his retort. Simple and to the point. He kept his face hidden and drew his knees to his chest, hiding childishly.

"Well, might I inquire what is wrong?"

"No," another simple answer. But why would he want to talk to a stranger anyways? He didn't recognize this person, and he didn't want to be comforted. He just wanted to be left alone, didn't he? He recalled how he felt back on the Carrier –back when Mello had fucked him and he ran to the Control Room. He remembered the pride he felt when he brought the equipment to life and got the radio to work. Then he thought of the conversations he had with NR 91.

The stranger approached and knelt beside Matt, drawing one knee up and reaching a hand to play with a curled strand of hair. "You seem troubled."

"Why do you care?" With that, Matt finally uncurled his body and looked to the person who had intruded upon his alone-time. He found himself speechless at the sight of snowy white hair and pale skin. He'd seen this person shortly after leaving the Carrier, but… he hadn't really taken in the teen's appearance until now.

"I _don't_ care," said the albino with a cold and distant tone. "But you are being quite loud, and it was very distracting."

The redhead sighed and averted his gaze. "Sorry. I didn't realize how loud I was. Erm, well, I guess I…-"

"You do not owe me an explanation. But if you want someone to talk to, I have two good ears." He paused, reaching a hand to remove the headset that had crowned him. He fiddled with a dial before setting it aside.

In the blink of an eye, Matt snatched the headset and looked it over. He recalled wearing a similar one on the Carrier when he talked to Near, and the memory sparked an idea. "NR 91?" he asked, his voice wavering with uncertainty.

The white-haired teen quirked a brow in response before addressing: "AC Number 4A109537?" He paused and his own charcoal-colored eyes bore into the brightest emeralds. "Copy that," he affirmed apathetically, though his eyes took on a strange glint.

"So… you're really… Near?" Matt found himself smiling and looking at the odd boy who had offered him long-distance companionship. "I'm not sure what I expected you to look like, but your appearance caught me off guard." He felt himself closing his eyes and slouching as a light-hearted chuckle escaped. In his mind, this was no different than how they talked before; he felt at ease at this point in time. He wasn't screaming; there were no frightening images passing through his mind. Nothing like that at all. Just him… and a trivial companion who would not judge him.

"It is quite a pleasant surprise to meet you, Matt, though… tracking your coordinates, I knew you'd be one of the passengers on the Carrier." He looked the redhead over, comparing the visual of this teen with the one he'd concocted mentally. He thought of commenting on the redhead's appearance –and the blood that was seeping through the discount clothes he wore, but he refrained.

A silence fell between the two boys. It wasn't the sort of silence that made someone feel insecure or nervous. It wasn't anything of the sort. It was comfortable. Peaceful, even.

Then, a quiet voice asked: "Can… Can I talk to you about something?" The voice was so quiet, it almost blended in with the silence that had previously enveloped the two boys. So quiet. "Please?" It was a whisper that even a ghost would have to strain to hear. "Nate, I… would like to talk to you about…-"

…

**-With Dizzy and Mello-**

_Still in The Crater. Things aren't as hard as I thought they'd be. I still suffer nightmares; I dream of God's eyes peering down at me as a tonsillectomy is performed on my conscious self. Sometimes I wake up screaming and clutching my own throat, but I don't want my comrades to see that; so, when they all gather in the back of the Sanctum of the East to bunker down for the night, I leave the Eastern Wing and head West, where I stay with a few Westies I've befriended. PennyBandit and her boys gather 'round excitedly, and I recite favored bouts of poetry or short stories that I recall from my days back home –back when I dreamed of nothing more than becoming a scholar with a decent job to support my family. –it's strange, now, how those days seem so much like a dream to me; my past seems so unreal, as if I've imagined it. But… I have to remember my family and remind myself that there is more to life than this Crater and the bodies we burn. Because… if I die here (which is very likely), I want to have something to cling to. I want to think of my siblings, all dirty and hungry… but happy. I want to think of the apple orchard we used to hide in when my father was in a drunken rage; we hid there so much, it was like a second home. I want to think…-_

Dizzy put the notebook down again. He was still upset with the loss of his longtime friend, and he had to wonder if the green-haired Tactician thought about his family during the time of his bereavement; if not, what was on his mind? Did it hurt… to die? He was alone, yes, but was he lonely? What was it like to make that kind of decision and just… accept it?

The amethyst-eyed youth clutched the book tightly as he glanced over at a particular blonde; he found a small smile stake claim over his features. "I think… if Virus was still alive… he'd like you."

Mello nodded, trying to be supportive, though his thoughts were elsewhere. His thoughts were on a redhead with steel-plated hands, wide green eyes, and a breath-taking smile. "Well, Darwin, what would you say to doing a bit of espionage regarding Matt? I still need to gain his trust again, and the only way I can think to do that is through a series of complicated schemes."

It took a few seconds for the other teen to even process that he'd been addressed (he was still getting used to being called _Darwin_ again), but he offered a small smile and began to bounce in place, fingers curling and feet tapping. "Yes, yes! Let us go and spy on Matt! Let us mend the faults between you two so that you two might become best-est friends!" With those words, his smile fell and his eyes flickered with something akin to depression; his jitteriness had all but faded.

Mello took noticed almost instantly. "Darwin, somethin' wrong?"

Dizzy twiddled his fingers, his gaze finding the floor and his mind reeling, but he answered anyways. "Mihael… A and Penny have been spending a lot of time together…"

"Yeah, I've noticed," Mello murmured, not really seeing the significance.

"And, you and I have been spending a lot of time together."

Mello didn't verbally respond this time, but he did nod slowly, trying to take in what the other might mean.

"And… if you get Matt to like you, you'll start spending time with him, right?"

More nodding.

"And I'll be all alone again."

Mello tried to think up something to say to reassure the other, but nothing came to mind. He wasn't good at this sort of thing. He wasn't good when it came to dealing with people, and he hadn't the slightest idea how to ease Dizzy's stress. Still, he took a deep breath and decided to try. "Darwin, A and PennyBandit are only acting like this because they like each other… you know. _Like _each other_._ And the concept is very new to them; they don't quite understand it, and it excites them, but… they'll get over it and have time for you soon, 'kay? And, even if I end up spending time with Matt, I'll make time for you too. Promise." Before he could utter another peep, the notebook was dropped and a set of surprisingly strong arms encircled his waist and he could feel Dizzy's face nuzzling into his abdomen.

Dizzy pulled away, smiling. "Virus would have definitely liked you." He paused and his expression changed drastically; his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed; his muscles went rigid and he launched himself away from Mello and towards the hallway. "Now, let us go and find Maaaatt!" He laughed childishly, nearly tripping over his own two feet on his way out of the room.

Against his will, Mello found a small smirk tugging at his mouth as he followed after the boy.

…

**-With A and L-**

A had just gotten out of the shower and found himself refreshed; he was still mostly wet as he walked out of the bathroom, toweling his hair with one hand and adjusting the ties on his pajama pants with the other. With well-toned muscles that rippled pleasantly beneath his flesh, he was an Adonis of sorts. His skin was lightly tanned and his abs tightened with his every move. He walked into the lobby and was greeted with many faces –some who had been in Kyoto for a long period of time, and others who were new, like himself.

His eyes found one man in particular –the man whom, like himself, was addressed by a single letter: L. And, like the fearless leader he was, he approached his fellow letter and gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Sir? I just wanted to express my appreciation for your grand hospitality. My troops needed this. Just look at them," and he gestured to several former Crater-dwellers who lazed about, some eating, some chatting idly, and others just… enjoying something akin to normality.

L brought a thumb to his lips and nodded slowly. "Yes, indeed. I suppose they would need a break from their War training. But, I must say that they will not be allowed to mooch. The Great War is upon us, I am sure. And though you are not in The Crater, we are working to fight against Kira and all of his followers."

A shook his head fervently, fingers itching for a weapon he did not currently possess. "No, L. We must be rational about this. Many of Kira's followers are blind to the truth. We can't simply kill them for their ignorance."

"What do you propose we do, A?"

A furrowed his brows and gathered his thoughts. "Forget the War. Let's focus solely on Kira and the high-ranking bitches that protect him. If we take them out, we can replace Kira and work to make amends to the World, starting at the core of the problem."

L sighed and shook his head, reaching to a nearby trolley and grabbing a sugar cube; he placed it on his tongue and waited for it to start to dissolve before speaking again. "That could work, but who would replace Kira? Logically, we don't need another tyrant; we need to work to form some kind of democracy."

A sighed. "I suppose. And it's not like we know Kira's exact location anyways."

And L smiled. "Not entirely true. My brother."

"You mean… the ever-famed BB?"

"Yes. Beyond Birthday." L slipped his hands into his pockets and began to pace the floor, shoulders hunched and lips pursed. "My brother, for years now, has been housed by Kira's mistress. He has collected much valuable data along the way and made sure to pass it to me through travelling soldiers who were once selected to be Pets for the mistress."

A's mind tried to keep up. "Well, shit, ain't that convenient?"

L shrugged listlessly. "Yes, it is quite helpful indeed. Now, we just need to get a message to BB. If we can manage that, then he can get back to us with the exact location of Kira. That will lessen our work. Perhaps we can render Kira and his army defenseless before the Great War is in full effect."

As L and A conversed, PennyBandit approached, wearing a blue night shirt and a pair of Pikachu slippers. She looked at the trolley skeptically before snorting childishly. "Sugar is bad for the body. I'll have water and produce."

L looked at her like she might have been an alien. "Sugar is good for the mind."

"And all that sugar is probably why you look like shit," countered Penny smugly.

A simply groaned. "Penny, you're a wonderful lady, but you need to learn to pick you battles. L is going to help us fend off Kira's army, and…-"

And PennyBandit growled. "Until recently, WE were part of Kira's army!" she hounded, looking angry. Then, almost instantly, her expression softened and she buried her face in her hands. "I-I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I know it's in everyone's best interest to rise against Kira, but… but… Virus believed in Him so strongly, and…"

L and A watched Penny cry and unintentionally make a spectacle of herself. Then, L quirked a brow at A and made an ambiguous gesture to the emotional female.

"Wha's that supposed to mean?" he snipped at the raven-haired man, only to see L walking away, pushing the trolley with him. Realizing that he was figuratively alone in this situation, he sighed and pulled PennyBandit into his arms, holding her close and resting his chin atop her head. "It's… going to be… alright, I think."

And Penny cried harder, placing a hand to his chest and pushing him away; a small smile found her lips and a strangled sound escaped. "A… Remember that time on the Carrier… back behind the crates? When you and I…-?" She trailed off, a light dusting of red touching her cheeks. Her voice lowered, and her eyes averted. "A, I think I'm… pregnant."

…

* * *

**/Well, this chapter didn't have as much in it as I wanted, but it's an update. Review./**


	10. Underscored

**Title:** Cinders in The Crater

**Summary:** Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DN. The plot and OCs are mine. Anything referenced is either owned by someone more respectable than I, or is purely a coincidence. That is all, thankyou.

**Thank My Beta (Co-Author?): **THANK CATATONIC VANITY!

**Author's Note: **Sorry for taking so long to update, but here ya go! I'm not particularly pleased with this chappie, but… it's done. And it explains a lot. Next chappie promises to have a bit of the action back! *grin* Can't wait! I'm craving the chance to write some bloodshed and violence! So… get through this chappie, learn some shit, and stay tuned for ze next chappie!

**Mine: **The Crater is mine. Dizzy, Virus, PennyBandit, Westie boys, Bucky, Serotonin, Demo, and Vaccine are all mine too. (So far, that's it.)

…

* * *

**Chapter Nine: **Underscored

Matt's eyes were faded green, like plastic beads meant to imitate jade –as opposed to their usual emeralds; emotions seemed gone and the gleam once held was replaced by the cold hollowness of moss-strewn ammonite. His mouth moved with a sense of urgency, releasing words he'd longed to say for so long, confessing all the secrets of his past leading up to now.

He told of his lovely mother, who would dance around the house in baggy clothes while she cleaned, and then she'd make cookies and sit in the game room with her son for hours. She loved her son and was a good mom.

He spoke of his father, who was tough on him, working him hard and trying to prepare him for the hardships of life, though… he was never too busy to offer a game of catch. He cared more than he let on; he was a good dad.

He almost smiled as he steered the one-sided conversation to Linda, his first love. He went on and on about her smile, and her voice, and the way she made him tingle all over just by looking at him. She was a wonderful girl –she was innocent.

Then, his voice lowered and his tone became emptier than his eyes as he explained how he'd been taken away from the life he knew...

"-And… the weird part is, I was only 13 at the time; I was kicking and screaming at first, but… once Takada forced me into the car, I just felt so helpless; like, all I could do was sit there and simmer and wait for the impending tragedy that I knew was coming."

Hearing this, the albino furrowed his brows thoughtfully. "Takada? Miss Takada dragged you off at that age?"

"Yeah, but I wasn't Initiated right away. I was all strapped down and ready for some guy to cut me up when a blonde chick came in and saved me; I think her name was Misa. She…-"

"Misa is Kira's mistress," Near interjected, seemingly puzzled. "Misa probably wanted you as a pet, and…" he drew in a deep breath and got up; he walked across the room and to a small shelf, where he grabbed a box; he reclaimed his seat next to the redhead and spilled the box, littering the floor with countless puzzle pieces. He calmly began the painstaking process of putting it together. Then he continued. "What troubles me, is your age; 13 is not a normal age to be forced into an Initiation. And… the fact that Miss Takada was the one to do it, that confuses me as well. It is my understanding that she and L have an agreement of sorts, and she's been helping to gather information, but… I never pegged her as someone to get so deeply involved."

The redhead shrugged. "Takada wasn't nice at first, but after she hit me with her car, she seemed sorry. She was nice to me then."

"…She hit you with a car?"

And Matt laughed nervously, eyes closing and hiding those precious gems as he began to grow more comfortable with the subject as well as the person he was talking to. "Long story, but I'll shorten it up a bit. Misa saved me from being Initiated. She did take me in as a Pet, and that's how I met BB. He warned me about the Great War and then faked my death to get me out of there. Then… I ran into the street, got hit, and…. Next thing I know, I'm waking up six months later with amnesia. That's when Takada seemed almost sad and regretful around me; she wasn't mean; she even tried to lessen the pain of what Kira was going to do to me."

Near nodded listlessly, eyes and hands trained on the puzzle, ears and mind trained on the redhead's words. "So… Kira Initiated you personally?"

"No, well… Kinda?" Matt sighed and got more comfortable, moving to sit next to the pale teen and watching his puzzle-solving with faint curiosity. "Kira tied me up on a cross. Talked to me about being God, promised me things… And then he…-" the words he needed to say, they wouldn't come. All manner of sound caught in his throat, even though he tried so hard to speak about it. He closed his eyes, ashamed, and wrapped his arms around himself, needed the comfort that would be gifted had the embrace come from another.

"You were the 13 year old that Kira Mandated," concluded Near, hands stilled with a puzzle piece in each one as his eyes left his project and instead opted to observe the former Crater-dweller. "So, what are you going to do? Being Mandated means…-"

"It means that Kira wants me to replace him when I turn _19_… If I live that long."

"How old are you now?"

"15? 16?" Matt tried so hard to remember. He uncurled his arms from himself and fisted both hands in his hair, trying to stave off the oncoming anxiety. "Taken away on my 13th birthday. Linda was gonna throw me a party. A coma for 'bout 6 months. A year on the Convoy. Time in The Crater –not long. Close to two months on the Carrier." He paused as he calculated. "I'm almost 15. I'll be 15 at the beginning of February."

Near nodded. "Matt, you are quite young for someone to have experienced so much. It is a shame that you have been forced into such things so early in life, but moping about it will not solve anything. We must press onward and help L to achieve a world without Kira."

The redhead sighed and gave a small nod, extending his hand with an upturned palm, glaring at the ugliness that would not fade. As much as he hated the scars and plates, they'd become a part of him, and that was just something he'd have to learn to accept. "_Nate_…" Why was he even bothering to open up to the other teen? He couldn't say, nor did he feel the necessity to evaluate the act. Perhaps he was lonely? Perhaps he just needed to vent.

"That's the second time you've called me that."

"Would you rather me call you '_Near_?' Or, I could address you as '_NR 91_,' if you'd like."

"Nate or Near is fine," the albino said before silence claimed the two of them, only to be broken by the pale boy again. "Your hand isn't as hideous as you think. I've seen you try to hide them in your pockets and behind your back."

"Sorry." No, the redhead wasn't sorry. He wanted this, didn't he? As much as he tried to hide the grotesque features that were his hands, he wanted to share his pain. He wanted the kind of sympathy and comfort he'd been denied. True, some time ago, he started to tell his troubles to PennyBandit, and even Mello, but… neither could give him solace. Because, back then, he was Bright Eyes, and that was _not_ something _Bright Eyes_ had wanted.

Comfort is something _Matt_ wanted.

And whether or not Near had noticed this, was hard to say, though he did put down a puzzle piece in favor of placing a hand on the redhead's shoulder. "I like your company, Matt," he said softly.

And Matt smiled. Because he believed the fair haired teen. "Yeah?" he inquired rhetorically, slipping an arm around the other and drawing him closer.

"… Yes," Near responded, knowing and not caring that the answer was not required.

…

Mihael and Dizzy stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold. They'd been there long enough to hear Matt recall most of the events in his life and were no longer positive that eavesdropping was a good idea.

Dizzy looked to the blonde and silently mouthed an apology.

The blonde didn't even notice; too busy staring at his enemy and friend being so verbally intimate and physically close. His eyes narrowed into deadly slits and his fists clenched at his sides. "Darwin," he whispered, quiet, so as not to disturb the duo on which they spied. "Let's get out of here. I have a feeling that Matt's trust won't be won over by spying; we'll need to get crafty." And with that, he turned away, thoughts dwelling solely on how Matt had run to Near… more than once. But… as far as he was concerned, the redhead belonged to him; he'd stop at nothing to prove that.

He just needed a good scheme and perfect timing –this is where Dizzy came in.

…

Mello and Dizzy had left Matt and Near minutes ago, entering and taking refuge in a deluxe kitchen setting. The blonde acquired a piece of chocolate cake for himself and his companion. "Alright… So, if I heard correctly, Matt was the teen who was Mandated. But, even if Kira wanted to Mandate Matt, he'd have waited for him to come of age to be drafted first, wouldn't he? Unless there is another critical element in play here –one that we're unaware of. But surely Takada knows, though… from the way Near spoke, it's possible that Takada's working both sides of the Great War, and depending on whom the majority of her loyalty goes, we might be able to use her."

"We don't need to use her. We don't need any of that information, Mihael. I know how you can regain Matt's trust," said Dizzy earnestly.

"You do? Well, spill it."

"This might sound silly, but… try being honest. Talk to him. Show him who you are, but lay off the jealousy and aggression. A good start to this would be discussing your views on Kira and what the two of you plan to do… if you live through Kira's demise."

The blonde looked at the other teen before shaking his head and replying: "That sort of thing never works. Now… here's the plan… You're going to help me get him alone, and I'm going to seduce the fuck outta him until he likes me."

…

**-With A and PennyBandit-**

A and Penny sat together on a divan, both seemingly mute for an extended period of time. Neither quite knew what to say, but the silence was broken by A as he took one of Penny's hands into both of his own. "Lady, I've given it some thought, and… fuck it."

PennyBandit pulled her hand away uncertainly. "Fuck _what_? In case you forgot, _fucking_ is what made this mess." She gestured to her stomach and sighed heavily.

A narrowed his eyes and clasped her hand once more. "Penny, look at me." He waited for their eyes to meet before speaking again. "It's not a mess; it's a miracle. We made that thing, and I wanna do this. I… I wanna be a dad. A good one. I wanna be with you through the pregnancy, and the birth, and I wanna help raise this child."

"But the War…-"

"The War won't last forever, Penny. And our child will grow up with a peaceful environment, unlike we did. There won't be a Kira. There won't be a War. No convoy. No Crater. Just two people –you and me –and a kid who can't wait to grow up." Keeping one hand holding hers, he slid down off the divan and onto his knees; he placed his other hand on her stomach and smiled. "It's scary, I know, but… I'm going to man-up and do everything in my power to be the best damn father I can. And… along with being a father, I'd like to be… your man. PennyBandit, will you…-"

"_No_," she countered before he could finish his question. She looked into A's eyes, seeing his confused expression. Then she showed him a smile of her own. "You cannot say such things to PennyBandit. She is a woman who has slain many innocent people. But… I would not object to you being so kind… to Miranda Bennis."

The confusion melted from A's eyes, instantly replaced by glee. "Miss Miranda Bennis? Would you accept me as your baby's father… and your future husband? Will you take me –Alex Rekkid – as…-"

"Oh, fuck yes, I will!" PennyBandit practically screamed as she flung herself at A, knocking him over and landing atop him. Her lips met his and their fates were sealed. Just as their kiss began to deepen, she pulled away, a small laugh falling between them. "You do realize that you'll be trading your gun in for a bottle of formula? And instead of barking orders, I expect you to read bedtime stories."

A looked thoughtful but nodded. "I suppose I'm going to have to man-up and learn a whole new way of doing things."

"Yeah, and… if you think about it, this is almost like a promotion. You've found a rank higher than Commanding Officer."

A nodded and slipped an arm around Penny, resting one hand on her hip and caressing her cheek with the other. "PennyBandit –or, rather, _Miranda_…- I love you."

"And I love you… _Alex_."

…

**-With BB-**

A pair of barber shears snipped at wild mane; black ribbons fluttered to the floor. A sinister laugh bubbled from the lips of the man who not only wielded the cutting tool but whose own hair was being clipped. Red eyes burned illusory holes into the mirror as this little charade took place.

Yes, BB was cutting his own hair… again. Surely the blonde called Misa would come and scold him. But, she'd smile and hold him too. And he liked the affection, craved it even. It was something to look forward to, especially since he spent the majority of his time holed up in a frilly pink room, surrounded by pro-Kira icons and receiving minimal attention. On rare occasions, he would get to sneak a brief conversation with Miss Kiyomi Takada, knowing that she'd find a way to string the messages along to his brother L, usually through people like Aiber and Wedy, but… the chances to pass such messages were few and far between, sometimes being six or seven months apart. And Misa hadn't brought any new pets in some time, so his usual antics were moot.

Still, he continued to hack away at his hair, and when he deemed his hair choppy enough to warrant Misa's attention, he set the scissors aside, grabbed a jar of jam, and waited.

…

Hours seemed to pass with him sitting there, clutching the unopened jar, just… waiting.

Eventually, the door opened up and, as expected, a blur of blonde flew into the room, and for a moment, BB was happy; a small smile crept across his face as he stared at the woman that had not only saved his life but had loved him too.

That smile didn't last though, as he noticed a barrage of bruises claiming her face and arms and all visual parts of flesh.

Kira walked in behind her, shutting the door behind himself. He glared furiously at her, and BB scowled quietly at the scene that played before him.

"Quit being such a bitch, Misa. I've taken care of you. The least you can do for me is make this one little trip. I supply you with money, clothes, food, and a place to live." He gripped the blonde's shoulders tightly and shook her roughly. "The rules say that I have to have a mistress by my side for as long as I'm Kira; the rules do not say that I have to have you as my mistress. And Takada's been sweet on me for some time, so I just might have to trade you in for her."

Misa gasped at what she heard. She shook her head rapidly and tried to pull away from the brunette man's grasp. "No! MisaMisa loves Light! Always have and always will! Please do not trade MisaMisa for Takada!"

And Kira smacked her; his hand collided with her face and he released her in time to let her fall to the floor. "Misa Amane, you have been a thorn in my side long enough. I've given you a lot of freedom –more than I should have. I let you buy what you want; I even let you have your stupid pets, but… no. We're done here. You had feelings for Light Yagami –a stupid little boy who knew nothing of the real world, but the day he became Kira, he left that existence behind." He paused, kneeling down so that he was eye-level with the blonde woman. "Misa, look at me. I… stopped being Light… when I was mandated. You knew this, and you still followed me. And now, I'm God. I'm not just a fuckin' God –I'm the God! People worship me. And, in a few years, when Mail Jeevas is old enough, I will appoint him a mistress, step aside, and allow him a seat on the throne. Misa, don't you understand? This is how things have to go."

Tears slipped from Misa's wide eyes and she choked back a sob. "But… I still love you. Even though you changed, I've always loved you. And I've always been thankful for what you've given me. But… I don't understand why you won't change anything. You're God, so… why can't you make the rules? Why can't you stop this madness? People are dying, Light."

Kira stared at her, brow quirked up in a show of curiosity. "Misa… do you realize, that this is the first time you've referred to yourself with the appropriate pronoun in almost two years? It's funny, really, isn't it?"

Misa opened her mouth to speak but closed it quickly, gaze falling to the floor and breath hitching.

BB watched silently from his perch in the corner, eyes narrowed angrily and lips pulling back to bare his teeth; he hated watching Misa suffer, but he was not in a position to act.

Kira smiled so sweetly, placing a gentle hand to the blonde woman's cheek and giving a teasing caress before slapping her. He laughed wickedly and turned away. "So funny, really. Between you and I, you were the chosen one, weren't you? When I was just a boy, _Gelus_, the Kira before me, he loved you. He wanted to spare you of all the agony he forced upon everyone else. But he knew the only way to do that was to make you the _Mistress_. Though he already had a mistress of his own, and you were much too young for him. And so, he watched you from afar…"

"I loved you, Light," Misa pleaded quietly.

"Let me finish!" the brunette said tersely. "As I was saying, Gelus was Kira, and he loved you; wanted to protect you. And so… he decided that you would become a Mistress –but not for himself, no. He watched and waited, plotting. And you fell in love with _me_, didn't you? I was just about to be drafted; the last thing I wanted was a girl hanging all over me, but you were special, and because you loved me, I became special. I was selected and _Mandated_. I was to become the next Kira. I worked hard for it, striving to stay alive and become strong. I succeeded and the figurative crown was passed to me, and I took you… as my mistress… just like the old Kira wanted."

"And I'm happy, Light."

Another slap fell across Misa's cheek and she fell to her knees, trying to choke back tears. "Fuck you, Misa. I know what happened to you while I was risking my life on the Convoy and in The Crater! You were chosen, so you got to stay behind, away from the slaughter. You finished high school and went on to college while I was fighting for my life! And I'm so pissed for it! I hate you, Misa. I've hated you for so long…"

"And yet, I continue to love you, Light, please! You-You're more than a God! You're better than Kira! You're Light Yagami, the man who cared for me all these years." With that, she broke, tears sliding from the corners of her eyes and lips parting to unleash a series of ungodly wails.

Kira knelt beside her and patted her head. "I loved you once… until I learned how spoiled and rotten you've been. But don't worry, though my hatred for you grows, the population of the world shrinks. And, when I pass on the role of Kira to Mail Jeevas, he will be free to start over, having more than a dozen Craters full of teens at his disposal… and… while he decides who lives and dies, my sister, Sayu, will sit back and watch; she will be safe and happy; she will be… the next Kira's mistress."

Misa finally managed to control herself enough to speak. "…What if Mail doesn't want to be Kira?"

"Misa, everybody wants to be Kira; they're just too stupid to realize that! Don't you get it? It's the only way!"

Misa pressed her palms to her eyes, letting out a small sniffle. "The only way to…- what?" When she slowly removed her hands, she tried to avoid looking at him.

And Kira smiled. "The only way to be safe. The only way to live without fear. Don't you get it? To be Kira means to have power. To have power means for people to fear. And with enough fear, people won't hurt you. Being Kira guarantees safety, Misa." That manic behavior that had seemingly possessed him was all but gone, and in its place was a pair of honey-colored eyes and an apologetic smile. He wrapped his arms around Misa and pulled her close, resting his cheek against her. "Misa… being Kira… means that I don't have to fight or live in poverty. And you're my mistress, so you're safe too. I just… I wish I had gotten to finish high school and go to college. I wish I'd gotten all the same privileges as you. I don't mean to get angry at you for your good fortune. I'm just… glad you're safe. And I want Sayu to be safe too, which is why I wanted the Jeevas boy –he's about Sayu's age, and I've seen how he treats girls; if he treats Sayu half as well as he treated Linda, I'll be happy."

Misa leaned heavily against Kira, enjoying the comfort he offered. "MisaMisa still does not understand why Kira won't just change the rules. Why won't you stop the War and the Training? Why won't you save all those kids?"

"It has to be this way, Misa, okay? Free will is a frightening thing; it cannot exist in society or else people will lie, cheat, steal, and murder. The world will become rotten. At least, this way it is a sort of haven. But the right to live in this haven must be earned. The experience teaches children to become stronger and more tolerant of hardships. It teaches them when it is and isn't okay to trust people. And, if they live and make it into adulthood, they are usually so tired of violence that they live rather peacefully. I like that, Misa. I like it a lot. My father likes it. Everyone likes it." With that, he kissed the blonde atop the head and drew himself from her. "Now, if you behave yourself, I'll keep you as my mistress; I'll take care of you. And when the time comes, Mail and Sayu will take our places, and you can do as you please and I will take my father's place, training future soldiers on the Convoy." He closed his eyes and envisioned the future before looking at Misa once more and bidding farewell, making a casual exit.

Misa said not one word as he left; she simply made her way over to a frilly bed and curled up on it.

Still silent, BB watched; he'd been seething but otherwise was immobile during Kira's visit. He'd give just about anything to get his hands around that bastard's throat, but that was not the plan. Even though he hated waiting, he had to be patient. Kira's reign would come to an end in time, he knew, but not yet.

If BB were to act on impulse and attack Kira, and if he were to fail in his attempt to murder, then his own penalty would be death, and he was not ready for that; plus, he had no intentions on leaving Misa's side. And… if he were to somehow succeed in killing Kira, then… what would Misa think? Misa truly loved Kira –or, at the very least, she loved who he used to be.

BB didn't want to be seen as a monster. Not in Misa's eyes.

Gripping the still-unopened jar of jam, he wandered over and onto the bed, lying next to the blonde. He nudged her lightly and licked her cheek.

When she looked at him, her eyes were wet, but she smiled. "Thanks, Beyond."

Red eyes stared into blue and, for perhaps the first time since they'd met, he spoke to her. "No… Thank you, Misa. You have done so much for me, and for others as well. You're a saint."

Misa looked surprised at hearing him; she shook her head and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him flush against herself. She reached a hand to play with his hair, smiling sadly. "I… I really do love Light."

"I know," he said, voice soft, eyes closing as he enjoyed the feel of her fingers in his messy hair.

"And, I can't help that I was allowed to further my education and he wasn't."

"Uh huh," he said as he craned his neck and nuzzled his face into her bosom. A rather comfortable blanket of silence fell over them for an unknown amount of time before BB spoke again. "You… do know what I've been up to, don't you, Misa?"

Misa was quiet for a minute or two before responding with a nod. "Yes, I know. I… I've known for a while."

"And you're okay with what has to happen?" BB looked at her, gauging her reaction.

She seemed reluctant, but she affirmed. "Yes. I love Light, and I will support Kira til the day I die, but I cannot deny that things are terribly wrong."

It was BB's turn to become quiet, pensive. "Misa, he's going to die. He has to. He cannot continue his reign, and he cannot be allowed to pass on the role of Kira to someone else. He has to…-"

"I know, Beyond. Just… promise to let me go too. I don't want to live without him in my life. So, please, before he goes, will you be the one to… kill me?"

More silence. So much silence. No words. Nothing. Not even a cricket to be heard. Just the simple sounds of their breathing and, if one listened close enough, their heartbeats.

Eventually, the blonde fell into a slumber, holding her pet close and dreaming of a better tomorrow that would come… even though she wouldn't live to see it. And the raven-haired man stayed awake, red eyes wide and haunted, knowing that the person he cared for most would never feel the same way, and that she wanted to die… by his hand.

**(A/N: In case you didn't quite understand the importance of Misa and her proper grammar [or original lack thereof] it was one of the several ways that she tried to show inferiority to Light. Though he, as Kira, holds the power, he is insecure with her having further education than himself. So, for the two of them, it is a big deal. Misa's not quite as dumb as she pretends to be. –Oh, and yes, Misa did just technically ask BB to kill her.)**

…

* * *

**/That's it for now. Sorry for taking so long to update. Questions? Comments? Concerns? Leave a Review and I'll get back to you ASAP!/**


	11. Hysteria

**Title:** Cinders in The Crater

**Summary:** Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DN. The plot and OCs are mine. Anything referenced is either owned by someone more respectable than I, or is purely a coincidence. That is all, thankyou.

**Mine: **The Crater is mine. Dizzy, Virus, PennyBandit, Westie boys, Bucky, Serotonin, Demo, and Vaccine are all mine too. (So far, that's it.)

**Dedication: **THIS CHAPPIE IS DEADICATED TO CatatonicVanity!

**Author's Note: **Sorry for taking so long to update, but if you keep up with my stuff, then I've at least supplied you with stuff to read.

**Thank My Beta: **CatatonicVanity, who did such an awesome job catching all my pesky errors! *grin* What would I do without her?

_**WARNING(S):**_

_**X **__Here There Be Cliffhangers!  
__**X **__I re-wrote this entire chapter and changed around a few things. So, expect the unexpected; anything you expected might have been altered or edited. –I… kinda used the end to vent some frustrations. Sorry!  
_

…

* * *

**Chapter Ten: **Hysteria

Dizzy watched with condemnation as his blonde companion struggled into a pair of tight leather pants; he tied the laces and zipped his vest; lastly came the boots and gloves. "Well, Darwin, how do I look?" asked Mihael, turning to give the other a proper view of all angles. When the other teen simply offered an exaggerated smile and a frazzled nod, he checked in the nearby mirror. "Yeah, I'm sexy as fuck_… I'm sexy and I know it,_" as he spoke, he sang that last sentence, making a lyrical reference. It was unfortunate that Dizzy didn't share the joy that came from Mello's rare illustration of humor.

Still, they put aside wordplay and chatted, both grinning and plotting the seduction of a certain redhead.

"Mihael, can I tell you something?" Dizzy asked after a moment, his voice suddenly full of a strained gravity that did not mix well with his previous display of energy.

Mihael gave a curt nod and glanced at the teen that he was gradually accepting as a friend. "Yeah, kid. What's up?" His demeanor seemed to shift from selfish and cocky to concerned and curious; this was something that was only witnessed by a select few.

"Well, it's been nice being away from The Crater and meeting new people. But… the Great War isn't over. Things will turn bad soon, I just know it. And… when that happens, I'm not going to fight."

The blonde turned his full attention to the other, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Darwin, whether or not there's a War, no one's gonna make you do anything. If you don't want to fight, you can help in other ways; you can be trained as a field medic. Or you could do inventory on our supplies. Or…-"

"No."

"Hn? Come again?"

"Mihael, what I mean is… when the Great War hits its peak, I'm going to do what Virus never could do. I'm going to leave the battlefield and just… move on." With those words, Dizzy smiled so brightly; his hands shook and his feet scuffed the floor, as if he couldn't contain his own restlessness.

But… looking at the teen, Mihael could tell something was off. He stared for a long time before approaching and grabbing Dizzy by the shirt, pulling him closer and giving an awkward hug, complete with a pat on the back signaling his own discomfort. "Darwin… I-I fucked up a bit. I suppose I'm always focusing on myself, always what I want and what I need to do in order to succeed, but… I tend to forget… that others have issues as well. And… Virus' death must still be fresh in your mind. –I'm sorry I haven't been a very good friend. I'll work on it…"

Hearing this, Dizzy's happy expression vanished, replaced by genuine sadness, though the paradoxical smile remained in place. "'Kay. I just… thought that everyone wanted me to move on. Virus always said that there is only one good reason to be sad; people only look for that reason when they desire a happiness they can't afford; and… by the time they find that one reason, they forget that they were sad to begin with."

"Virus said a lot of things, it seems," said the blonde, surprised that the person who once appeared to be childish and mentally unstable was now exhibiting a good memory and a vast understanding of human emotions –something he himself couldn't fully grasp.

"Virus and Penny and A –they were my family. Not just because we all lived in The Crater and got along, but… because… when I first met them, I was crying, and –do you know what they told me?"

"Not really."

"A told me to tie my shoes so that I wouldn't trip over the laces. Virus told me to watch my back and have a Merry Christmas… even though it was nowhere near Christmas time. And PennyBandit told me that if I ever needed a friend, she was only a Wing away."

"They sound kinda nice. But… I don't need frie-" Mihael began to deny his friends, but Dizzy cut him off, slamming a surprisingly sturdy fist into his nose; the force of the jab caused the blonde's head to fall back and his nose to bleed. "Fuck, Dizzy!" he shrieked, regaining his bearings and covering his nose in a failed attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Don't say that you don't need friends. Just don't. Like it or not, you've become a friend to me; you've fallen in love with Matt; and you've risked your life more than once for us Crater-dwellers. And… for the record, your method of seducing Matt is all wrong. If you want him to want you, you need only to talk to him and be honest."

"No offense, but I can't just walk up and say 'hey, I'm horny and you're mine; let's fuck.' It doesn't work like that."

Dizzy said nothing as he sat down in a nearby chair and opened the book he'd become so familiar with. Silently, he began to look through it, finally getting to where the journal entries lessened and scribbled maps and battle tactics increased. Just as he began to read, a small folded scrap of paper caught his eye; it had been carefully sandwiched between the pages and held in place by the firm crease. Curious, he grabbed and unfolded the paper. "Mihael… look at this," he said, voice portraying the awe he felt.

The blonde approached and turned his icy blues onto the neatly scripted text.

_-…ic Gailed. My Name Is Vorasdic Gailed. My Name Is Vorasdic Gailed. My Name Is Vorasdic Gailed. My Name Is Vorasdic Gailed. My Name Is Vorasdic Gailed. My Name Is Vorasdic Gailed. My Name Is Vorasdic Gailed. My Name Is Vorasd…-_

Mihael squinted his eyes at the odd sentence that was written multiple times. "So, that's Virus' real name, I'm guessing."

Dizzy shook his head quickly and held the slip of paper delicately between his fingers as he turned a few pages, quickly comparing the handwriting between a brief journal entry and the sentences on the scrap. "This note… was _not_ left by Virus."

"Then, who the fuck left it?" Mihael tried not to appear agitated that his quest to seduce Matt was knocked off schedule, but he was determined to prove himself a good friend to Dizzy… and… little did he know that the former Crater-dweller had his own thoughts on the matter –a scheme brewing inside that once-helmeted head of his.

…

**-With Matt and Near-**

Matt's eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell in a calm rhythm. He'd gone through his own sort of personal death and revival while recounting his life to the albino he trusted a little too easily. And as sleep claimed him, said albino sat only a few feet away, clicking puzzle pieces into place and occasionally allowing his vision to travel away from his puzzle and along the contours of the redheaded teen that had yet to turn 15.

It was admittedly strange for the pale teen to be so drawn to someone, and just a glimpse at those mutated hands was enough to remind him of the awkward embrace they shared earlier. The intimacy, though possibly one-sided, was warm and foreign and left his own small body desiring something more.

The cocaine-haired teen knew better than try anything with someone so traumatized… but he was also aware that a certain blonde rival of his was more than a little interested in the redhead.

With that in mind, he arrowed his eyes and decided a bit of _sabotage_ was in order.

...

Hours seemed to pass before Matt woke up alone. His first instinct was to jump up and fall into a naturally defensive stance before he took in his surroundings and deduced the lack of threat. He calmed and relaxed instantly; then he exited the room in favor of exploring and possibly finding something to fill his blubbing stomach.

He found a pantry of sorts and began to sift through the contents, hoping to find anything that he deemed edible. Unfortunately, he was surrounded by sweets and had no desire for the unnecessary calorie intake. (After all, he had to keep his body in prime condition. War was coming; danger, evident or not, could be everywhere; and… if he lived long enough, he would have to take the place of God… And the world did not need an ill-fitting savior to command them.)

Bearing those thoughts, he began to wonder… if he might really take over someday. What would it be like? Would he become a foul and twisted tyrant? Could he change the way the world worked? Would change be good?

Looking down at the discolored and ribbed flesh on his hands, anxiety flooded him. He could hear it again; he could hear the shouts and pleas of soldiers around him, all falling to their deaths as their bodies wept angry copper onto the mucky ground. Flashes, images, and scenes raced through his head –moving, soundless mouths; wide, fearful eyes that grew glassy as life faded from them; bodies crashing down; weapons being drawn by some and dropped by others; snow and slush being kicked up by teens who ran head-first into their own demise; bone snapping; blood flowing; teeth being ripped out in a barbaric form of torture…

Matt was clutching his chest and gasping before he even realized that he was nowhere near The Crater. His eyes burned but no tears fell. His body convulsed and bile rose in his throat; he lurched forward and heaved stomach acids onto some form of pastry or another.

He wasn't sure how much of this he could take. He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and left the pantry, not even bothering to clean up his vomit.

With trembling hands, he got himself a glass of water, nearly dropping the cup several times in the process.

"I'm Matt," he choked, spilling the remaining water as the glass finally slipped through his fingers and shattered against the floor. "Matt… never killed anyone," he said, trying to reason himself into stability. "Matt likes to tinker with electronics and talk to NR 91. Matt… is not a monster." He found his gaze meeting his hands; his eyes explored the metal plates as well as the ugly scars, and anger surged through him.

Anger… directed at the world for being fucked up; at Kira for ruining him; and at himself for losing his virtue.

And sadness ate at him, reminding himself of the world Mail had left behind.

_Mommy, I hope you're okay. I wish I could tell you that I'm alive, at least; I know you worry. And… dad, I just hope you're not disappointed in me. Lastly, Linda –I hope you've found a way to be happy; I hope you won't get drafted. Please… everyone… just be safe._

Finally, tears slipped from the corners of his eyes and he drove his fist into the nearest wall, easily busting through the surface and shrieking at the damaged structure. He punched again and again, fists going numb and skin breaking with the force of each blow. He just needed to relieve stress, and he didn't know how.

When he finally managed to calm down, he was fatigued; his own blood surrounded him like graffiti; and the skin on his knuckles were almost completely shredded; he could see the metal so clearly, unprotected and in plain sight.

And though he was so tired after throwing his tantrum, he resolved to fix the problem. He laced his fingers and dug his naked metal digits into his own steel infrastructure and began to pull, trying to tear out and remove the reward he'd worked so hard for during his stay on the Convoy.

Blood flowed in abundance and through his own torn skin, he could see his jolting muscles and nerves stretching and breaking as it was forced away from its metal support.

A sudden blow between his shoulder blades caught him by surprise and he tumbled forward, catching himself on a nearby counter. His eyes were wide and his teeth were clenched. Alarms were going off in his head and he whipped around, reaching to tear at the throat of his assailant.

Unfortunately, his enhanced digits never made contact. Instead, a surprisingly strong grip was placed on his own throat and wrists and he was held in place by none other than the raven-haired man called L.

"I would not advise you to do anything so rash, child," said L with an air of apathy, though something seemed to flicker in those obsidian eyes as they bore into shining emeralds. "Whether or not you realize it, you are a vital instrument for saving humanity."

"I-I'm not some tool," the redhead countered, closing his eyes and trying to focus his thoughts.

L tightened his grip to the point where he could feel the shifting of bones in the redhead's wrists. "I'm not calling you a tool, per se. But I do believe you are the key to getting to Kira."

"Have BB do it. He's already close to Kira and could easily take him, right?"

"It's more complicated than that, Mail, now stop acting like a selfish child."

Hearing his birth name, Matt was promptly overcome with melancholy, falling silent and refusing to make any sort of response.

"Mail, I give my word that we are all trying our best to handle this safely and effectively. But I do require your cooperation." As L spoke he released the redhead and gestured for him to follow, which he did. He led the former Crater-dweller into an old playroom and placed a Gameboy in his grasp. "Wait here while I fetch you some cake. I'll have either Nate or Mihael come keep an eye on you in a minute, and as soon as you are more stable, you can begin training in Capoeira. I'll be back in a minute with your cake, Mail."

L turned to leave, and as he did, he caught the sounds of a game theme as well as the redhead's own voice saying: "My… name's _Matt_… asshole –and I don't like cake."

…

**-With A and PennyBandit-**

It had been a few weeks of staying with L at the headquarters in Tokyo. Currently, Miranda (PennyBandit –for those of you who forgot) was making use of a small gym, jogging on the treadmill and trying to keep in shape for the time being. Sweat coated her body, and she was excited now more than ever that the Great War would be upon them… because when it was over, she had a fiancé to marry and a baby to have. Names ran through her head and she wondered what the little guy or gal might look like. The thought brought a smile to her face.

Meanwhile, Alex (A) sat on a nearby bench, eyes fixed on books, magazines, and pamphlets about the female body, pregnancy, prenatal care, giving birth, and how to care for a child. "So," he said after a while, closing a book and planting his hands on his knees as his eyes fell on Penny. "I was wondering; when all this is done and Kira is no more, do you wanna raise our kid in the country, town, or city?"

PennyBandit laughed breathlessly. "Country. Out in the sticks, surrounded by nobody. No drama. Just… peace and quiet. Nice house. White picket fence. And piggies."

Hearing this, A quirked a brow. "Piggies?"

"Yes!" chirped Penny, getting off the treadmill and grabbing a bottle of water. She uncapped it and took a sip. "I wanna raise little piggies. It might be fun."

A shook his head by smiled all the same. It was nice to talk to someone without barking orders or worrying over who may or may not be on their way to the incinerator. More importantly, it was nice to be so close to the lovely lady… whom was currently carrying his child.

For once they were at peace; they were happy; they had their whole lives ahead of them, and they were going to make the most of it.

…

**-With Mello and Dizzy-**

Mihael entered the library and took a seat in front of a computer; he immediately accessed his preferred server and browser and began to search for any traces of Vorasdic Gailed. While he did this, Dizzy accessed a nearby copier, making duplicates of the paper as the blonde instructed.

"We have specialists here who can analyze and trace that sort of thing," Mello explained, furrowing his brows when he found no matches for the name he searched. "They can sample the ink and paper, find out all possible locations that type has been processed, look for those who potentially buy and use it, and…-"

"And how's that going to help something that might be many years old? And what if it's just a keepsake that Virus kept from a friend? Or what if…-"

"Darwin, stop stressing me out. If you want me to figure this shit out, then shut up and let me tackle the issue systematically."

Dizzy looked thoughtful before approaching the computer Mello was accessing. He tilted his head to the side; his hands slid over, one to the mouse and the other to the keyboard, quickly bringing up several windows and tabs and almost instantly calling forth Warning and Error messages; the screen flickered angrily.

"What the fuck are you doing, Darwin?!" the blonde knocked the other teen away and began to close out of the numerous programs and isolate the source of the problem. Unfortunately, his endeavor was fruitless and led him straight to the Bluescreen of Death!

"I know a redhead that can fix it," said Darwin, smiling mischievously. "I'll go get him! And when he gets here, he can fix the computer and the two of you can do some detective stuff with the note I wrote!" As Dizzy spoke, his voice grew louder and louder, more excited; as soon as he finished his last sentence, he jerked away from his blonde companion, spread his arms and ran from the room, making airplane noises on his way out.

Finding himself alone, Mihael looked back and forth between the original note and the fucked up computer. His first thought was to question how the fuck someone as simple-minded as Dizzy could bluescreen a computer so quickly; then he recalled the strange intelligence he seemed to possess beforehand. And, ultimately, Dizzy's words sank in.

"_-he can fix the computer and the two of you can do some detective stuff with the note I wrote!"_

"Darwin, you sly little fucker." He chuckled quietly as realization dawned on him. "You were making an excuse for Matt and myself to work together…" The slight smile that had formed fell from his face as he glanced back at the dreaded bluescreen once more. "Now, how can I smooth talk my way through this?"

…

Dizzy ran through the hall and stumbled over his own untied shoe laces, falling flat on his face and sitting up afterwards. He rubbed his nose and cheeks and grimaced at the fact that he'd fallen. Then he tied his shoes, whispering '_bunny ear, bunny ear'_ to help him do so. Once two neat little bows were achieved, he got up and raced towards the room he'd last seen the redhead.

Standing just outside the room were L and Nate; they appeared to be in the middle of a rather private conversation.

As Dizzy approached, the two of them hushed up. "If you're here to see Matt, you may find yourself disappointed," said the albino.

Dizzy responded with a frown. "But… Mihael has a computer problem, and I'm sure Matt can fix it," he said simply, appearing every bit as naïve as usual.

L shrugged his shoulders in a show of nonchalance. "I regret to say that Nate is correct. Mail is not to have visitors for a while. He is rather unstable and after witnessing what he did to that poor cake, I do not think it is safe for him to be around people until he stabilizes."

Near reached a hand to his head and began to curl a lock of hair around his finger. He looked at Dizzy with learned stoicism. "I'm afraid he is unsafe for now, undergoing violent tantrums at random moments and going as far as to murder seventeen people within the last half hour."

"And he destroyed the cake," reminded L, looking almost sad.

Dizzy scratched his head and tried to wrap his mind around what he'd just heard. After a bit of pondering, he narrowed his eyes in determination and clenched his fists. "Matt is not dangerous," he concluded.

To Darwin's words, no repose was given, but L did speak. "Nate is to stand guard over Mail's room. Darwin, you will go and train with the remainder of our militia. We have been idle for much too long, and a message from BB has come, telling us the location of Kira's prime headquarters and instructing us to make a move within four days." He paused long enough to slip his hands into his pockets. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to see what problem Mihael has with the computer."

…

Dizzy reluctantly entered the training facility, heart heavily burdened as he realized that not only was L pushing for the War to rage on, but also because he'd knowingly gotten his blonde friend's hopes up for a relationship that seemed nearly impossible.

The first thing he noticed upon entering were the new matching uniforms as everyone raced through an intricate obstacle course that would test their physical capabilities; then he noticed a few people off to the side checking supplies and learning their way around a Med-Pack; finally, he caught sight of another group –a group that was zipping up black body bags and removing bloodied corpses. He watched as the final cadaver was eradicated, and… much to his dismay, he found that he knew the man to be Gevanni.

But… could Matt have really done this? Bright Eyes could, yes, but _Matt_?

No.

…

**-With BB-**

The raven-haired Pet paced circles in the pink palace that Misa had made his home. He knew he would be dying any day now, and he welcomed the tragedy with open arms and closed eyes. Because, with what he was expected to do, how could he go on? The person he loved most wanted her death to be granted by his hands. If he were to refuse, she might hate him, but if he were to go through with it, his own heart would surely break.

He stopped pacing only when the door opened to reveal his blonde sweetheart; she waltzed in with faded bruises and a bright smile. Her frills were perfectly in place; her hair and makeup were done up extravagantly –looking like a sort of gothic Lolita, she was ready for today. She approached her Pet and lightly fingered the collar she'd given him upon their first meeting.

"Any day now, Misa," BB said quietly, lowering his head and trying not to meet her gaze.

"I know Beyond," she responded, smiling sadly. "And I'm ready."

"But… Misa, if I kill you… what will I have left?"

"You'll have your brother. And you'll have a future." She gently caressed his cheeks with her delicate hands, coaxing him into making eye contact with her. "I need you to do this. And I need you to live." She leaned so close that her breath ghosted over his lips.

Without warning, he closed the small gap between them, pressing his lips to hers and reaching to entomb his hands into her blonde tresses.

Surprisingly, Misa didn't pull away; instead, she allowed the intimate gesture.

And so, he continued to kiss her, starting gently and gradually applying more force and even daring to trace her beautifully painted lips with his tongue. When she parted her lips, he took the initiative to slip his tongue inside, deepening the kiss as they began to ravage and explore.

Their hands started to roam freely, feeling with feather light touches which contrasted greatly with the hungry mouths that attacked one another.

In a matter of moments, they were on the luxurious bed, both a mess of tangled limbs and breathless gasps.

"This is wrong," Misa whispered, fighting off the lust that had begun to consume her.

BB inhaled sharply, eyes shimmering with tears that were beginning to flow. He hovered over her for a moment before leaning down and sobbing into her shoulder. "Please, Misa… Just one time. Let me show you how I feel. Let me love you. Just once."

Misa took a deep shuddering breath but said nothing. She ran her fingers through his hair and tried to make him happy. The two of them remained in that position with her offering small gestures of comfort and him releasing more emotion than he had in his entire life. But soon enough, she halted her actions and looked at the ceiling. "Beyond," she said quietly, continuing only after he made a sound of acknowledgement, "I don't love you that way. I love you like family. But, if you really want, I'll let you love me. One time."

She didn't get another word in before her mouth was assaulted by BB's. He propped himself up and tried to look into her eyes, and though he looked at her, she never met his gaze. He quelled his cries and firmly framed her head with his hands. "Misa Amane… I, Beyond Birthday, love you more than life itself. I'd do anything for you. I –I'll even continue to live for you. I promise." He tried to smile but his face twisted in agony as he went in for the kill, twisting her head and planning to snap her neck.

This was it.

He was going to kill her and fulfill her one request.

Then he would live each and every day thinking about this horror.

…Or, at least, that was the plan.

But Misa felt a strain in her neck; there was discomfort, but no real pain, and when she opened her eyes and saw blood running down her Pet's cheek, she screamed. She pushed him away and scooted back, trying to assess what was going on.

BB was motionless, save for the moving mouth that tried to say '_I Love You'_ but emitted no sound; blood was flowing freely and the hilt of a large scalpel was protruding from his temple. His eyes were half-lidded and he slumped forward; the entirety of his weight fell onto her lap, and she continued to scream and cry.

She was going to die; Beyond was going to kill her, but… what went wrong?!

Her head whipped around and she noticed that the door was open, and standing before her were three people.

Ryuk: the crazed man who took delight in at least ninety percent of the Initiations.

Kiyomi Takada: longtime friend and supporter of Kira who always seemed to have a hidden agenda.

And, finally… Light Yagami: Kira himself –the God of the New World and a merciless tyrant who justified his actions with ill logic.

…

**-Meanwhile, back at L's headquarters in Tokyo-**

The body of an 18th victim fell to the floor. The murderer laughed cynically and placed an old Gameboy next to the corpse. "Game Over, Mail Jeevas. I'm coming for you."

…

* * *

**/IT'S OKAY TO HATE THE CLIFFHANGERS! But, seriously, review. And hopefully I have an update for ANONYMOUS coming up. And after that will be more CiTC. –Again, sorry for the gap between updates. Now… Seriously, REVIEW!/**


	12. Helter-skelter

**Title:** Cinders in The Crater

**Summary:** Under Kira's rule, the Great War was on its rise, and the teens drafted never came home. Mail Jeevas is no different. – Rated M for future chapters. AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DN. The plot and OCs are mine. Anything referenced is either owned by someone more respectable than I, or is purely a coincidence. That is all, thankyou.

**Author's Note: ** Sorry for taking so long to update, but I was going through an emotional crisis, and if I'd jumped right on this update, I'd probably write quick and unwarranted character death for everyone important. Obviously, I can't do that, so… I had to wait for things to cool off. And… I regret to state that this chapter, while confusing with a few important events, is mostly a filler. This fic will be completed within the next five chapters, so… enjoy it while it lasts! -After this chappie, things will be less complicated, I swear! Y'see, this War started with two sides, but as we examine the sides a bit closer, we find that each side has friends, enemies, and smaller battles to be fought amongst themselves.

***Le Gasp*: **No Beta for this chappie! Try not to be too critical!

**Mine:** The Crater is mine. Dizzy, Virus, PennyBandit, Westie boys, Bucky, Serotonin, Demo, and Vaccine are all mine too. (So far, that's it.)

…

* * *

**Chapter Eleven:** Helter-skelter

Mihael tried not to show his irritation as he watched L tend the computer, easily rectifying the harmless but obnoxious DOS.

The raven worked in silence, unaware that the blonde had anticipated the assistance of a particular redhead.

"Thanks," Mello murmured as his elder turned away.

L became stationary as he questioned: "what were you trying to do when you noticed the virus?"

Mihael ran a hand through his hair before answering. "Research. Nothing too important, but it seemed necessary at the time."

L seemed skeptical but did not voice his cynicism. "Mihael, do put aside your reckless endeavors and join the others on the training course. In only a few days, we need to be fully prepared."

"May I train with Matt?"

"No."

"L, why the fuck not?! C'mon! He's a valuable asset; I've seen him in action. He's smart, fast, strong, and a damn good soldier," the blonde pleaded his case and growled when his superior appeared indifferent to what he was told.

"That's just it, Mihael. He's a soldier. A killer. A beast trained to take lives –he could turn on us in the heat of battle… especially since he's in line to become Kira."

"You don't know him like I do!" Mello shouted, raising his voice and leaping from his seat; he grabbed L's shoulder tightly and bared his teeth. "Matt's not like that. He's killed, but only when he needed to. And he regrets it! He's just a kid! Taken away from home at 13 and left to fend for himself without so much as the use of his hands! L, he's remarkable; he's beautiful; he's…-"

"He's responsible for 17 murders at this very headquarters; he slaughtered my cake too. Until I have proof of his own stability, he will remain under lockdown –Nate will keep watch over him."

A rather feral growl left the blonde and he pushed past L. He headed straight for the old playroom, knowing from personal experience that temperamental teens were often locked inside.

As expected, a certain albino stood just outside the room, hands pressed against the door as he softly spoke to the room's prisoner.

Mihael stared at Nate from a distance, trying to quickly calculate his move before jumping into things. A smirk tugged his lips as he approached… with malicious tendencies in mind.

…

Matt could hear voices, followed by loud thumping and thrashing sounds. His heartbeat quickened as the noises from beyond the playroom grew louder, more violent. He huddled up in a corner and his hands shook against the frame of the PSP (he couldn't find the Gameboy he had earlier); his grip unconsciously grew tighter and the plastic warped beneath his steely touch.

Tears slipped from his eyes as he tried to make sense of things.

He didn't remember harming anyone recently; he didn't understand why he'd been locked in the room. And, most importantly, he didn't know what he was supposed to do.

He'd been given games to play, but he'd beaten them all four times already. He could easily escape the locked room if he wanted, but what good would that accomplish? (What if he really was subconsciously dangerous? There was no need to risk harming his friends.) He could just stay put, but the voices in his head were arguing with the voices from beyond the room.

So many voices –they were driving him mad!

He eventually managed to calm himself down; he curled up as much as possible and tried to remember happier times.

But all his old memories were lost, muddled and tarnished; he was too smart to live in the past, and yet… one thing crossed his mind and allowed him to fall into a peaceful slumber with a smile claiming his lips.

One thing.

One thought.

The understanding that he had friends; one of those friends was a blonde named Mello; and though he couldn't quite place it, he felt _something_ for the older teen.

…

Matt woke up to the sound of screaming, and this time, it wasn't his own. The door to the playroom was unlocked and wide open, and a familiar red liquid marred the walls and floor; in his own lap was a familiar woman, bound and blindfolded and writhing as shrieks and obscenities flew from her mouth.

Green eyes turned wide, confused and fearful. "P-PennyBandit?" he questioned in disbelief. His head hurt; the heart in his chest was pounding furiously; and the blood made him feel queasy.

Just then, A raced into the room and scooped the woman up into his arms. "Miranda! Fuck! What happened?!" Emotions laced his voice like never before; panic engulfed his demeanor as he held the woman close.

"A-Alex," Penny cried, burying her face against his chest.

"Miranda… the blood. What happened? You okay?!"

PennyBandit shook her head and wept.

Matt remained motionless, too shocked to comprehend anything but the scent of copper; his senses began to fade; sound left him and his vision blurred.

Something was wrong.

No –_everything_ was wrong.

Alex gave a spiteful glare towards the redhead before rushing PennyBandit from the room and screaming for medical assistance.

Thankfully, a team of four (one of which was L) came to their aid, ushered A out of the way and proceeded to check on the blood-soaked woman.

…

An hour later, L stood in front of an anxious A and told him that PennyBandit would be fine, but she had been attacked in a rather gruesome manner. "The weapon found was a metal coat hanger; it appeared as if an abortion was being forced; her uterus thoroughly destroyed, and her reproductive organ is unlikely to be fertile."

Hearing this, A appeared apathetic, but inside his heart and head, alarms were going off. He wanted to scream but his voice was stoic as he asked: "What if she was already pregnant… Could the baby make it? Do you think…? Maybe…?"

L stared at A like a child might stare at a dead rodent; he was silent for a while before simply saying: "Why don't we get some cake?"

…

The following day, PennyBandit was mobile but unsocial; she tended to the medical supplies and did her best to keep busy. She hadn't been told who had attacked her, but she remembered the flash of red hair before her initial attack. And, though no one told her exactly what happened, she knew enough –and she feared the worst. Her hand came to rest on her stomach, and she prayed_… not to Kira_. She didn't know to whom she was praying; she simply knew that she needed guidance.

And that guidance came to her in the form of a helmeted teen kneeling next to her.

"Dizzy?" she asked quietly, forcing a broken smile as she looked at the helmet and wondered where it came from.

Dizzy smiled and corrected her. "It's Darwin. My name's Darwin –did you know that? –Mihael got me a new helmet. It's nice, isn't it?"

Penny nodded but was at a loss for words.

Dizzy didn't mind; he always seemed to have something to say. "Oh, and… don't worry about anything." His smile, if possible, seemed brighter than ever. "Mihael said that there's a place called _heaven_."

"Hn?"

"Heaven. It's up there." He pointed skywards and tried to suppress his enthusiasm. "Yep –high in the sky, above the clouds and stars and everything. A magical man lives in heaven, and when someone nice dies, they go and live with him. That man takes care of them; takes away their pain and sadness; makes them happy."

PennyBandit didn't quite know how to respond, so she turned her attention to the Med-Packs and duffle bags.

Dizzy continued with a divergent lilt in his voice. "… Don't worry. I know Virus must be in heaven… and if your baby is gone, I'm sure Virus is taking care of it. I bet Virus can walk again; I bet he's telling the baby all kinds of nice stories. I bet…-"

Once again, PennyBandit was in tears; she dropped the supplies and wound her arms around Dizzy. "Oh, Dizzers… thank you… so much. You're a good kid."

Dizzy enjoyed the warm arms around him; he nuzzled his face into Penny's bosom. "Penny," he addressed, voice muffled against her breasts. "Are you fighting in the War?"

PennyBandit seemed to freeze up at the question. After a moment, she shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"Me neither. I wanna leave. I don't wanna fight. I don't wanna be here. Penny, I wanna go ride a train. I wanna see an airplane take flight. I wanna see everything."

Penny nodded. "I'm sure you'll get to see everything, Dizzers."

"Not if I die," he said, pulling away and peering into her eyes with a grim expression. "L keeps telling me to train and prepare for War. I don't want to do that. In fact, I'm not so sure L's the good guy."

Penny furrowed her brows. "Dizzy… what do you mean?"

"Things were fine in The Crater. We were all happy. L sent Vaccine, and The Crater became dangerous. Mello came next and there were more casualties than usual. Now we're all here, and we're still preparing for War. How is L any different than Kira? We switched sides, but is there really a difference between the two? People are getting hurt. –At least The Crater had places to hide. And it was easy to know who to trust."

…

**-With L, Near, and A-**

A dropped the weight he'd been lifting; he wiped sweat from his brow and glared at L. "I know we need him alive for now, but the redheaded bitch is gonna pay for hurting Miranda." His voice was firm and angry as he made this declaration.

L nodded and took a bite of cake. "Of course, Alex. Justice will prevail. Shall we go over the plans once more?"

Nate shook his head dismissively. "I think we're all clear on things, L."

The ravenette quirked a brow and shook his head. "Regardless, let's go over it again; we can't afford mistakes." He pointed to a map and began to verbalize how to get from Point A to Point B; he clarified which groups would be stationed in designated checkpoints; then he pulled up the blueprints of Wammy's House. "This… is the most important phase of the plan. Everything must be executed perfectly. Matt –or Mail Jeevas, rather –will be our guide. I will pose as my brother and sneak into the room the Mistress keeps him in; from there, I will wait for a signal from Alex, whom will be flanking Mail. When I receive that signal, I will radio Nate to ready the troops for infiltration –we will be using a failsafe tactic involving mild chemical warfare. Go in with gasmasks and teargas and don't stop, no matter what." He pointed to a square on the blueprint. "This room is where we need to congregate before we confront Kira. He will be well-protected, no doubt, but if we execute this right, we should succeed with minimal casualties."

A looked thoughtful. "L, I know it's not my duty to question the leadership of a superior, but… what do we do if and when we take down Kira?"

Hearing the question, Nate's attentiveness piqued; he also wanted to know this; he listened carefully, feigning disinterest.

L finished the last of his cake before responding. "When Kira's head is in our hands and his body is at our feet, we take over. We destroy any and all remaining evidence of the Craters and Convoys and Training Camps. We set up a fair democratic government and make things right. People of all ages will be treated fairly; and children won't be Initiated or Mutilated any longer. –Now… we move in two days' time."

Coming from anyone other than L, it would seem impossible, but… the raven had a way with making everything seem probable.

**-With Misa and Others-**

Misa gave a fearful screech as she tried to distance herself from Light and his two companions. "Light, why?!" She trembled as her back hit the wall, and she just wanted to disappear. Her oceanic eyes found her bloody Pet once more, and she could almost see his devotion to her… even in death –the way his hands, limp and lifeless, were outstretched towards her; it was almost like he still wanted to comfort her.

But she knew better. His pulse was gone; the color drained from his face and his blood was all over her blankets and pillows.

"Why would you do this to Beyond?" she cried out, closing her eyes and turning away.

The brunette man in question walked towards the raven man's corpse, easily grabbing the handle of the scalpel and dislodging it from its chilling sheathe. He looked at the razor of it, finding faint amusement in the way the artificial light hit the metal as well as the crimson fluid that was gradually thickening. "Misa, dear, did you really think I was naïve to everything going on? Did you really think I would make such a fuss about a War that I didn't expect –oh, I expected this. Fuck, I'm God! I know everything. I even know where the Resistance is stationed; I know that L is leading them; and I know that they plan to attack any day now. I know this… because I have my own puppet playing puppeteer to your Pet and feeding bullshit to those idiots who oppose me."

Misa wanted to retort, but she could think of nothing to say; anything she might have said would only make matters worse, so she kept silent.

"Don't worry, Misa; I've got everything under control. You'll see. I'm arranging a televised ceremony to denounce you as my Mistress, and the lovely Miss Takada is going to take your place. After all, she's been such a big help in all of this. Pretending to feel bad for Mail, future God of the New World. Feigning worry for the safety of humanity as she relayed messages between BB and his righteous brother L. Acting like she was cautiously giving intel –ha! Lies, the lot of it! And, in just a few short days, when L and his meek army try to invade and launch an attack, my own forces will be ready to snipe them! He laughed loudly, dangling the scalpel between his fingers before throwing it towards the blonde.

Misa squeaked and curled in on herself as the sharp object stamped into the wall, missing her head by only an inch or two.

With a final show of mirth and hearty laughter, Kira took hold of Takada's hand, dragging her out and instructing Ryuk to follow. Ryuk ventured towards Misa to retrieve the scalpel before trudging after the other two; he walked at a slower pace, locking Misa in and trailing behind. Once Kira and Takada were out sight, Ryuk took a detour and shut himself in a storage room. He pulled out a phone and dialed a familiar number. After three rings, someone picked up and he grinned toothily. "Is Mail out of the picture yet?"

"_Not yet, but he will be."_

"Heh, of course. But time is running out. Get L and the others to turn on him. Then leave a subtle indication of BB's death… just like we planned. Keep out of sight and stay hidden until I come for you."

"_Of course, Ryuk. You've helped me; this is the least I can do for you."_

"…I'll see you in a two-to-three days. Don't screw this up."

"_Trust me, I've got this! Leave Mail to me!"_

"Glad I can trust you."

"_-Oh, fuck! Ryuk, I've gotta go! I've got another body to move if Imma keep this crediting the murders to Mail's insanity! Bye!"_

"Alright. Goodbye… Vaccine."

…

* * *

**/Confused? Let me clear this up a bit! Everyone on L's side (with the exception of Mello and Dizzy and possibly a few others) believes that Matt has lost his mind and is slaughtering comrades, but in actuality, he's being framed –however, he is suffering from PTSD. –Near wants Matt to himself because Matt's the first person Near's ever taken an interest in; Mello still wants Matt and is getting more determined to get the redhead to accept him (we'll see some MxM in the next chappie! Promise!) PennyBandit was attacked… kinda like Joan Crawford attacked her daughter with a coat hanger in the movie: Mommy Dearest. (If you haven't seen it, you must!) A is concerned, angry, and determined; he's completely working on L's terms, whereas Dizzy doesn't trust L at all. Dizzy sees no difference in L and Kira; both are training teens to fight; both are vindictive in their own ways. -And… well, that's it for the Resistance's side of things. As for on Kira's end, well… let's just say that the vindictive brunette's been a step ahead this whole time; and Takada's still playing both fields at the moment. Now, enter Ryuk –he's siding with Kira but has a hidden agenda; he's secretly working with Vaccine (whom is not dead! Oooh, what a twist!) Now, they have their own plans together, and for reasons unknown thus far, they share a vendetta against Mail! (Which will be unveiled soon enough!) *grin* REVIEW!/**


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